


The Boyfriend Experience

by Fatale (femme)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prostitution, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-10-06 09:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: Alec leans closer, entire body drawn towards Magnus like a magnet, and he gets a whiff of something warm, expensive-smelling, masculine. "Do you think this is working on me?"Magnus' voice is a low burr that hooks itself into Alec’s skin and makes him prickle all over. “I guess I’ll know when this night is over.”Holy fuck, Alec wonders, feeling dazed. How is this guy even real?--Magnus mistakes Alec for a prostitute. Oops.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on twitter! @fatalewrites  
#TBEmalec

There’s a long-standing tradition amongst university staff at their school that the night before the first day of class, they all go out and get hammered, do tragic karaoke, and let loose one last time before they spend the rest of the school year emulating what they think adults act like.

Alec sucks his gut in before trying to zip up his jeans. They’re the last clean pair he owns. It’s become increasingly harder to ignore the general spread his body’s taken on since creeping scarily close to thirty. He can no longer get away with eating Cheetos and beer for dinner then doing a half-assed workouts on the weekends.

Every Autumn, Alec promises himself this is the year he’ll get his shit together and every year marches on in a blur of bad coffee, boring faculty meetings, and increasingly poor life choices. He eyes himself critically in the bathroom mirror and runs his hands through his hair, trying to fluff it up. Could be better, but not too shabby. He needs a haircut, but he'll put it off another month or two until someone stuffs a few bills into his empty coffee cup at the park, mistaking him for homeless. His tank top is too snug, but it won’t matter under his jacket. He grabs a wadded up hoodie from the counter and slips it over his shoulders, zipping it up halfway. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and jams his feet in a pair of black boots and doesn’t bother tying the laces, instead just tucking them in between the leather and his socks.

There’s an obnoxious knock on the door. “Are you ready to go yet, Alec? I’m sure you look fine.”

“Cool it, Fray.”

His relationship with Clary is a mind-boggling winding path. She was originally dating his brother, Jace; became best friends with his sister, Isabelle; and was old college roommates with his best friend, Maia. He’d detested the perky redhead on sight without ever being about to verbalize exactly why._ She just got on his nerves_. Fast forward five years and Izzy lives with her boyfriend, Maia lives across the country, and Alec and Clary spend most of their weekends at their apartment, crying over _Steel Magnolias_.

He gives his reflection one final critical glance. It’s good enough, he decides and opens the bathroom door.

“Finally,” Clary says on a long exhale. She raises an eyebrow as she takes in his outfit. “Dressing up to meet anyone?”

“No,” Alec says defensively, plucking self-consciously at his ratty shirt. It's just a week past laundry day and he doesn't have anything that isn't boring work clothes or a couple sizes too small.

“Well, you should,” Clary says. “Just let loose, unclench a bit.”

“I am not _ clenched _.” He makes an active movement to flatten his hands at his sides and relax his ass, which was, in fact, tightly clenched.

“It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in, you know,” Clary says softly. “Let someone get to know the real you. You’re pretty great.”

Alec looks down, fiddling with his jacket zipper. Over the years, it has gotten easier and easier to be alone. His last relationship – well over a year ago – had ended uneventfully. He’d forgotten to return Mark’s calls and when he did finally call him back, the line had gone silent. “Oh,” Mark had said, “I thought we broke up a while ago.”

And that was the end of that. Alec had been sad-ish, but slept okay that night, spread out in the middle of the bed. Overwhelmingly, he felt relief. He was beginning to worry that he had gotten too good at being alone.

“How else are you going to meet other people?” Her face is screwed up in concern. She looks genuinely worried about him.

He ignores the ache in his chest and gives her a tight smile, slings an arm around her shoulders. “Why do I need to meet anyone else? I already have you.”

\---

The bar is a mid-ranger that Simon sometimes performs at during time off between larger gigs. Simon’s okay, Alec thinks, adores Izzy, even if Alec wished he had a steadier paycheck, even if he thinks Izzy’s probably too good for him. He thinks Izzy’s probably too good for everyone she dates.

He spies her sitting in a large group in a couple of booths in the corner and heads over. He passes by a table, glancing at the two men talking earnestly, one with jet black hair, wearing a red and black coat.

Silver glints on his fingers and Alec sucks in a sharp breath. Their conversation pauses and their eyes meet for a moment, something electric passing between them. Alec feels his armpits grow uncomfortably damp. This is why he only dates boring guys. He’s terrible at meeting people.

Reluctantly, he keeps going until he reaches the table and greets his coworkers, leans down and kisses Izzy on the cheek, catching a whiff of the coconut shampoo she uses, the sickly sweet smell of her lipgloss.

“Finally,” she says, tapping her empty glass with a shockingly red nail. “I've bought the first round, the next one is on you.”

“You already made it through one round, you absolute lush.”

She laughs. “That’s what you get for making a dramatic entrance.”

\---

Two rounds in and he isn’t feeling any better. He’s overheated and bored, anxious about what the new year will bring, worried about how all his coworkers are getting promotions, have a plan for their lives, and Alec’s mostly concerned with surviving whatever bullshit the next year will bring.

He slips out of his jacket, wadding it up in the seat, and wordlessly heads back up to the bar. No one will miss him; he’s barely talked all night. He’s spent most of his time up here and he'll catch hell for it on Monday, but right now, he can’t be fucked. Another year’s passed where he didn’t do any of the things he promised himself he would. He shreds the bar napkin angrily and begins sorting the pieces into tiny piles.

When he's done, he raps his knuckles on the bar, orders a beer and watches as the bartender sets it down in front of him. He tosses down a few bills and takes a long pull of his beer. It’s cold and takes care of his immediate problem, if not his larger quandary. But like always, some questions are too big to answer in a single evening, in a shitty bar in Brooklyn.

His hand looks pale on the scarred mahogany wood. He’s tracing patterns across the bartop with the condensation from his drink when another hand lands next to his. Silver rings glint in the low light, nails black and glittering. Alec swallows and looks up into the face of the beautiful man from earlier. Alec’s stomach does a funny little flip flop.

He notices Alec watching and winks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here and believe me, I’d remember a face like yours.”

Alec raises an eyebrow, ignoring the flush creeping up his cheeks. “That line ever work on anyone?”

“Depends on how I’m doing.”

Alec grins at him, feeling warm and relaxed, liquid courage sloshing pleasantly through his body. “Pretty damn good, actually," he admits. "Got any more cheesy lines? I'll be yours forever."

"Well, as exquisite as that notion is, I'm afraid I'm all out. I do have some incredibly sophisticated jokes, though."

"Lay one on me."

"There are three types of people in the world." Magnus' mouth twitches mischievously.

Alec plays along. "And those are?"

"Those who can count and those who can't."

Alec throws back his head and laughs. He can't help it, it's just so _stupid_.

Magnus grins at him. "See? I'm an intellectual."

Alec feels like he’s having an out of body experience. Hot, funny guys don’t randomly come up to talk to him. Or if they do, it’s to ask him to move because he’s blocking the stage or to ask where the restroom is.

Alec leans closer, entire body drawn towards Magnus like a magnet, and he gets a whiff of something warm, expensive-smelling, masculine. "Do you think this is working on me?"

Magnus' voice is a low burr that hooks itself into Alec’s skin and makes him prickle all over. “I guess I’ll know when this night is over.”

Holy fuck, Alec wonders, feeling dazed. How is this guy even real? Here he is, some idiot in too-tight jeans and an ill-fitting fitting shirt, having a mid-life crisis two decades too early, and the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his life is flirting with him.

“Magnus Bane.”

“A what?”

“My name,” Magnus says, laughing, his eyes crinkled appealingly at the corners, a bright flash of white teeth, his lips a perfectly formed cupid's bow.

“Oh,” Alec says, feeling stupid. “Alec.”

If Magnus notices his embarrassment, he doesn’t show it. “So, Alec, what are you doing here tonight?”

Alec gestures at his shredded napkin. “Working.”

But Magnus isn’t looking down, he’s watching his friend stand and grab his coat across the room. “Ah, excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Alec takes the minute alone to send Clary a text. Though it rarely happens, they’ve graduated beyond leaving a sock on the doorknob when they bring people home but not by much. He's barely spoken to Magnus, but something tells him it's going to be a wild night.

Clary sends back a thumbs up with a flame, and Alec gets a glimpse of an eggplant emoji before he hastily shoves his phone back in his pocket.

Magnus comes back to the bar a minute later, the mischevious gleam all but gone. “So, uh, I feel a little stupid.” He drums his fingers against the bar. “You’re _ working _.”

“I guess if you could call it work,” Alec says with a small chuckle. The easy banter from earlier has all but dissipated. Alec doesn’t know what’s changed, but he knows he still wants Magnus. “Hey, is this okay?”

“I like you,” Magnus says, raising his hand in an aborted movement towards Alec’s face. He catches himself, and his hand drops to the bar loudly.

“I like you too,” Alec says honestly.

Magnus grins self-deprecatingly. “I’m sure.” He turns around, hooking his elbows on the side of the bar His body is a lean line in the dusty light, his face shadowed. The front door opens and a laughing group of friends trek in, a cool gust of air following. Nonsensically, Magnus says, “How much for the night?”

Alec looks around, confused. He’s bought a few rounds. All in all, the night probably cost a couple hundred. “T-two hundred?” Alec asks.

“Okay,” Magnus says and takes a bracing sip of his drink. It’s bright blue and smoking slightly. Everything about him is different, exciting. “Okay,” he repeats softly. Whatever he’s thinking about, he’s made up his mind.

What the hell. Izzy’s always saying he needs to cut loose and have fun, get laid. Clary had just said that he needed to let someone in, though this probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Alec slides close, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off Magnus’ neck. He could lean forward a couple of inches and press his lips to the small mole right beneath the shell of Magnus’ ear, dotted with silver studs like a private constellation in a tiny sky. “My place is nearby.”

“I don’t usually do this,” Magnus says, swallowing. His adam's apple bobs, a sharp jut in his otherwise silky-smooth facade.

He doesn’t do what, pick up strangers in a bar? Neither does Alec, but that’s not going to stop him now. Seems like they’re both wearing facades like an outfit tonight.

“First time for everything,” Alec says, polishing off his drink and slamming the empty glass on the bar. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone. He’s feeling buzzed and reckless, clothes too tight and skin even tighter. He turns back to Magnus just before he reaches the front door. “You coming?” he calls out.

Magnus nods once and follows him out.

\---

He barely waits for Magnus to get in the door before he’s kissing him, backing him up against the chipped, painted wood.

"You’re so hot," Magnus murmurs against his mouth as Alec crowds him close, dipping his tongue into those lush lips to taste him. He tastes sweet like his drink, a little salty. He reaches his hands up and pushes Magnus’ jacket off his shoulders. He’s slim but surprisingly built. Alec kisses his way down his neck, hesitating over the hollow of his throat, dipping his tongue in just to hear Magnus hiss between his teeth.

“Bedroom,” Alec says. He doesn’t know what Clary has planned for the evening, but he means for it to not be an eyeful of him and Magnus.

“Is this your home?” Magnus asks, sounding distracted. He’s looking around, probably at the total mess he and Clary left earlier.

“Yeah,” Alec says self-consciously. “I know it’s not much--”

Magnus puts a hand on his arm. “It’s lovely, just like you.”

Alec fights a furious blush. No one’s ever called him lovely in any manner but sarcastic. He jerks his head towards a door on the right. “Bedroom’s through there.”

Alec follows Magnus into his bedroom, wishing he’d tidied up a little, and telling himself it’s a one night stand, who cares what Magnus thinks. But even as he thinks it, he wishes it weren't true. He likes Magnus, likes the careful way he unbuttons his shirt, his wide, elegant hand movements, his kind eyes as he told Alec his home was lovely. For a moment, Alec wishes he’d asked Magnus out for coffee instead of taking him back to his place. He wishes they’d given themselves a chance to see if there was something real rather than settling for something right now.

He doesn’t realize his head’s dropped low, listing off to the side, until he feels Magnus’ hand slide up his jaw, the first press of his lips, damp and hot.

"Take off your shirt," he says, pushing his hands up under the flimsy material, fingers skating over Alec’s stomach and settling on his hips. Alec hooks his thumbs around the bottom of the cotton and pulls it up and over his head. “Goddamn,” Magnus says appreciatively, eying Alec’s chest. “Love a man who doesn’t over-groom.”

Alec feels embarrassed under all the frank admiration and deflects by touching Magnus’ sharp collarbone, those ridiculous abs. “You're pretty—uh, pretty, yourself.” As soon as the words come tripping out of his mouth, he nearly slaps himself.

If people who are good with words are silver-tongued, then Alec’s tongue is made of some crappy zinc alloy.

But Magnus is laughing softly, his eyes soft and tender as he runs his hands up and down Alec’s back, lowers his mouth to Alec’s nipple and takes it into his mouth. Despite his earlier regret, there’s something heady about this being immediate and consequence-free. He’s not trying to be his sexiest, he’s not trying to impress Magnus. He doesn’t worry that Magnus won’t respect him in the morning. Alec’s all touch and taste and feel; he’s become a creature of senses and nothing more. His back arches against the cheap wood of his door as he makes a funny, high-pitched sound. Magnus takes it as encouragement and sucks harder, switching between one nipple and the next, scattered, too haphazard for Alec to guess where he’s going to go next. If this is how he reacts to his nipples, he’s going to leave the planet as soon as Magnus touches his cock.

Magnus pulls off with a wet sound and says, voice raspy, “Bed?”

Alec doesn’t waste any time, just manhandles him back and tumbles him down, unzipping his jeans and shoving them down as he walks. He kneels on the side of his bed, kicking off his pants and socks. Watches through hooded eyes as Magnus follows suit, revealing all of his golden skin.

Alec rolls on top of him, caging him in with his arms, head dipping down to kiss him again. Magnus gives as good as he takes, shoving his tongue in Alec’s mouth, against his teeth. Alec’s head drops down to Magnus’ shoulder and he inhales deeply as Magnus reaches a hand between them, palm pressing lightly against Alec’s dick. Alec pushes forward into Magnus’ hand, angles himself so he can feel Magnus cock against his hip, heavy and hot, leaving trails of wetness across his skin as Magnus bucks forward, groaning loudly.

“What do you want to do?” Alec asks

“Can I—can I blow you?” Magnus asks. “I know it’s probably weird, but--”

Why would it be weird? People would probably give their left arm to have Magnus in front of them offering to suck their dick. Alec scrambles off Magnus and flops onto his back. After a brief hesitation, Magnus squeezes Alec’s shoulder and slithers down his body, pushing Alec’s legs wider, wedging those broad shoulders in between his thighs. Alec practically jumps off the bed when he feels Magnus’ warm breath against his dick; he slings an arm over his eyes. He can’t watch or it’ll be over before Magnus even touches him.

Magnus wraps one of those elegant hands around him and jacks him slowly a few times before lowering his mouth to his dick, kissing the slit before snaking his tongue out and licking a broad stripe up the underside. Alec takes turns breathing and biting the tender flesh of his inner arm as Magnus sucks the crown into his mouth, lowering his mouth inch by inch into that incredible tight heat. He holds the base of Alec’s cock steady with one hand while he sucks and bobs his head, tongue working at the underside.

Alec scrapes his hand through Magnus’ hair, stiff and gelled and wild now. Alec’s knees are shaking, the muscles in his stomach twitching. Magnus reaches up and takes his balls in his other hand, massaging gently.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Alec’s saying nonsensically. _ “Your mouth, your goddamn mouth _.” His balls feel tight, his skin humming, eyes prickling. His world narrows to Magnus and his mouth on Alec’s dick, the pleased humming sounds he’s making in the back of his throat as he takes Alec in, over and over again.

Alec taps on his shoulder, once, then harder when Magnus ignores him. “I’m going to--”

Magnus pulls off with an obscene pop, his lips bruised and slick. He spits into his palm and grips Alec tight, rotating his hand slowly as he jacks Alec, eyes dark and sharp as Alec shakes and jerks beneath him.

He strokes Alec through his orgasm, pressed close to his side, gaze a hot scrape, his breath damp puffs against his chest.

Alec feels himself go limp, and Magnus presses a kiss to his chest, then gets up and pads to the bathroom. He hears the water run and Magnus returns a few minutes later with a damp washcloth.

“That was fucking great,” Alec manages.

“But rather unsafe,” Magnus mutters.

Alec’s thoughts have slowed to a molasses-crawl and it takes him a minute to answer. “Hmmm?”

Magnus leans down over the side of the bed and pulls a condom out of his pocket, holding it up pinched between two fingers.

“Shit, yeah,” Alec says. He can’t believe they were so stupid, but then again, the night has been a series of brilliant decisions. And apparently, he’s going to keep going with his trajectory of stupid. He props himself up on his elbows. “We could still put it to good use.” He eyes Magnus’ cock, dark and flushed and painfully rigid.

There’s a ghost of a smile on Magnus’ lips as he says, “You look like you couldn’t fight off a soggy kitten right now.”

Alec chuckles and rolls over. “Then I guess you’ll have to be gentle.”

There’s silence behind him and it makes Alec nervous. He looks over his shoulder. “Unless you don’t want to. No pressure if you're not into it.”

Magnus swallows loudly. “No, I’m—I’m into it,” he says, sounding wrecked.

“Oh, uh, lube’s in the side table.” Alec gathers his pillows, shoves one under his hips and bunches the other under his face. He feels relaxed, mind finally quiet, problems a million miles away. If only he could stay in this room with this beautiful stranger forever. But time stands still for no one, and neither does Magnus Bane. Alec feels wet fingers press against the small of his back, trailing down over his ass and pushing between his cheeks, one finger slowly working its way in. God, it’s been so long he hopes Magnus doesn't find cobwebs up there.

One finger turns into two, which is always odd, but Alec feels loose and happy. Three is stretch, burns a bit, but Alec’s done this enough times to know the pleasure is coming. He bites his lip and waits for it. So many good things are worth the beginning discomfort, and he shoves back against the fingers, tucking one leg up beneath him to give Magnus better access as Magnus works inside him, bends down to kiss his hip and murmur words of encouragement, how good Alec looks like this, how well he’s taking his fingers. It’s a heady thing to be so praised; love or a facsimile of it without a price tag. He doesn’t know if he’s ever really felt that before. In his experience, everything has a cost.

But maybe people would have offered it if only Alec knew how to accept it.

With Alec’s modified position, Magnus twists his fingers and crooks them slightly and keeps brushing that spot until Alec’s a sweating mess, fists twisted in the sheets, lip sore from where he's had it clamped between his teeth, trying not to yell out.

“Jesus, okay,” Magnus says, sounding breathless. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Alec gasps. He’s been ready; he’s practically crawling up the walls with want. He grips his pillow and squeezes.

He hears Magnus tearing the condom, and then he rests a hand on the small of Alec’s back, the blunt edge of his cock pressing against his entrance.

“Wait,” Alec says and licks his lips nervously. He feels stupid for asking, but-- "Can you talk to me? Keep saying what you were saying earlier?” If this wasn’t a one-off thing, Alec wouldn’t have dared ask. It feels like too much to request of a near stranger, but Alec can’t help it. It’s the story of his life: He wants, but he never gets. He’s learned just not to ask, but he never did learn how to not secretly want.

“You’re so perfect just like this,” Magnus says, his voice rough and low. “Look at you, so eager.” He pushes the tip of his dick in, feeding it slowly into Alec’s body.

There’s something shockingly intimate about being connected like this, sharing the same space, body inside of body.

Magnus grips Alec’s hip with one hand, moving so slowly Alec feels like he might come out of his own skin. “You're so tight, so hot. I couldn’t believe my luck when you walked into the bar tonight. So gorgeous, so lost.”

He bottoms out and Alec sucks in a breath, chest heaving. There’s something about Magnus’ words. They’re tearing him open; they’re soothing something raw and jagged inside of him. He’s so, so full, stretched to the brim, Magnus' hips flush against his ass.

“Ready?” Magnus asks and Alec nods, doesn’t trust himself not to cry out, say something stupid like, say it again. Say I'm perfect as I am. Magnus pulls out until only the tip is in, then pushes back, fucking him slowly, steadily, hands moving restlessly all over his body. Alec shoves himself back on Magnus’ cock, feeling full and sated, and afraid he’ll never feel this again.

“Christ,” Magnus gasps. “I wish you could see yourself, see how eagerly you take my dick. How hungry you are.”

He's right about one thing, Alec's famished, and he gives as good as he gets, pushing back against Magnus' cock, losing himself to sensation, the thrill of this night.

Magnus' hips stutter and he shoves in faster. Losing his rhythm. Alec reaches down feebly to grab his own dick, but he’s only half-hard, still spent from earlier. Still, it gives an interested twitch. It feels too good.

Nothing about this night prepared him for this; the feeling of Magnus moving inside him, his words, his caresses against Alec’s feverish, sweat-damp skin. Magnus makes a rough sound and shoves his cock in as deep as it’ll go, fingers coming to a bruising grip on Alec’s hips, pulling him back. Amazingly, Alec feels the familiar coil in his belly, less intense than earlier, but still there, and he welcomes it, lets it overcome him like a wave cresting and then breaking over the shoreline. Magnus cries out and comes right after, body tight around Alec’s, breath harsh and panting in his ear, his heartbeat a galloping metronome against his back.

After a moment, Magnus pulls back and Alec feels him slip out, his ass kind of open and squishy and awful-feeling.

Magnus hands him the washcloth, gone cold by now. Alec does the best he can, but it’s gross and it’ll be worse in the morning. Still, right now, he’s too fucked out to move, let alone get up and shower. It’s a problem for another day, it seems, a reoccurring mantra in his life.

“Hey,” Alec says, touching Magnus’ hand. He grows bold and threads his fingers through Magnus’, pretending he doesn’t see his surprised blink. But Magnus doesn’t move his hand. He rolls close to where Magnus has flopped down on his bed and kisses him softly, lingering. “Stay.”

“Okay,” Magnus says wonderingly and kisses him back.

He falls asleep curled around Magnus, one hand around his waist, the over sandwiched between Magnus’ hands, tucked up next to his heartbeat, slow and steady.

\---

When Alec wakes up in the morning, the curtains are billowing gently, the sun is breaking over the horizon, painting the room in shades of pink and soft yellow. He reaches out an arm and touches cool sheets. Of course. He doesn't know why he's disappointed.

He rolls towards the wall and rubs his eyes, bleary gaze focusing slowly on his nightstand, where three crisp hundred-dollar bills are stacked neatly.

“Oh, hell,” Alec says.


	2. Chapter 2

When he stumbles out to the kitchen, Clary is already awake and holding a coffee cup clutched between her two slim hands like a lifeline. Her burnished coppery red hair is piled on top of her hair in a messy bun and she’s wearing some hippy shit with tassels all over it. There are black and green smudges across the arc of one sharp cheekbone; he didn’t hear her come home last night but she might have headed to the studio at the University. She swears she paints better when she’s drunk. Maybe that’s why she rarely sells art. “How did last night go?” she says when she catches sight of him, eyebrows waggling suggestively despite the multiple times he’s told her he hates that.  
  
Alec clutches his money in a tight fist and glares down at the bills unhappily. “Do you think the University would be angry to learn I’d resorted to prostitution? Or would it help me get tenure if it proves how desperate I am?”  
  
Clary sighs and blows on her coffee. “I know it’s been a rough year for you, I’m not blind. Your last serious relationship was a while ago and I know you’ve been lonely, but this isn’t the way--”  
  
“I didn’t buy a prostitute, Fray,” Alec interrupts loudly. “Apparently, I became one.”  
  
Clary’s coffee cup hits the counter with a bang. Dark liquid sloshes out of the sides and puddles on the ugly Formica. She looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but then again, neither does Alec. “That was a plot twist I did not see coming.”  
  
Alec scratches his belly beneath his t-shirt, terrible things drying there and making the skin itchy. “Funny enough, neither did I.”  
  
“How did that happen?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Alec admits. “Apparently I give off sex worker vibes?”  
  
“Or maybe it was so great he felt like he should tip?”  
  
“On the side table? While sneaking out in the middle of the night?”  
  
Clary makes a sympathetic face and tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Ouch.”  
  
Alec shakes his head. It’s fine. It’s not like he expected any different. Everything in life has a price and it seems he’s just set his. It is really, really low.  
  
Clary leans over the counter. “Not to belittle your pain, but how much did you make?”  
  
“$300.” Alec tosses the bills onto the counter and slumps towards the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup. He adds a half a spoonful of sugar and gives it a brisk stir, metal spoon clinking against the sides of the glass while Clary carefully counts his dirty hooker money, looking increasingly excited.  
  
“Sleep with a few more guys for money and I can quit my job and do art full time.”  
  
Alec takes a sip of coffee, pushing down the feeling of disappointment threatening to swallow him whole. It’s stupid to think you had a special connection with the rando you picked up in the bar. At least he got paid in cash instead of HPV, it could have been worse. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Are you offering to be my pimp?”  
  
Clary cocks her head speculatively. “Depends if you would be amenable to the situation.”  
  
“Hold your horses, Madam Fleiss. I already have a job.”  
  
“Which--” Clary holds up her wrist and checks her watch.”You’re already late for.”  
  
Alec swears loudly before choking down the rest of his coffee and running towards the shower. Fantastic. His year is already starting off fucking fantastic. If he loses his contract with the University, he might have to start selling his ass for real by next week.

\---

  
  
He manages to get through the first half of the day by sheer will, but he's sagging by lunchtime when he meets Jace outside the main building. Jace teaches at a nearby high school, but he's trying to pad out his resume by adding some advanced courses. "Bunch of new professors this year," Jace says.

"Oh, yeah?" Alec tries to inject some enthusiasm in his voice. He's so happy for everyone getting the jobs he wants.

“Don’t you read the newsletters?”  
  
Of course, Alec reads the newsletters. For one embarrassing year, he actually_ wrote_ the faculty newsletter, thinking it would ingratiate himself to the Dean and help him gain tenure. Tenure was like the Great White of academia: everyone wanted it, and tales abounded, taking on mythical proportions. The science professor’s cousin’s best friend once obtained tenure, but very few actually made it. Most burned out before reaching the crust upper echelons.  
  
But what Alec had failed to realize was, no one read the newsletter except for himself and Jace, who by all accounts shouldn’t even be able to get ahold of it. He’s been sleeping with Kaelie, a TA for Professor Hardwick, who gives it to him. Leave it to Jace to sleep with someone for information that is practically worthless.  
  
“Jeez, what’s with the weird names?" Jace says, skimming the letter.  
  
“Anyone good?” Alec asks, taking a savage bite of his salad. His life feels like it's ground to a standstill. Even Izzy and Jace -- though he’s happy for them, _thrilled_, actually -- seem to have an idea of what they want their futures to look like. When Alec pictures what he wants his life to be, he just draws a big blank with some nebulous idea of happiness. It’s worse than knowing what you want and not knowing how to obtain it; he doesn’t even know what he _wants._  
  
“Nah, same old, same old.”

\---

  
  
  
Alec manages to push Magnus out of his thoughts until the weekend. He doesn’t mean to go back to the bar, and if he does meet Magnus there, he means to tell Magnus that he is not a prostitute in any way but the metaphorical one. He only gives up his dignity and time for _job opportunities_, and not of the hand variety.  
  
Despite his best intentions, that’s not what happens.  
  
Clary is on a date with someone she’s seen a handful of times and told him over coffee that morning that she thought tonight was the night she was getting lucky and not to wait up. So there was no one at home to judge him.  
  
He sees Magnus drinking alone at the bar. A few people approach, but Magnus waves them off, barely bothering to look up.  
  
Alec’s week has been shit and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to forget the blistering sense of freedom he felt with Magnus. He could ask for what he wanted, he could be himself. The fact of the matter is, he likes himself better when he’s a hooker. He’s sexy and wild, adventurous and free.  
  
Good god, life as an aging rentboy is more preferable to his real life. What alternate hell dimension is this?  
  
It’s a thought he doesn’t want to dwell on, so he shoulders his way through the light crowd and slides into the bar next to Magnus, slapping a few bills on the bartop.  
  
He feels Magnus’ gaze snag on him long before he looks over. He chews his bottom lip and accepts his drink when the bartender slides it over, carefully pretending like he isn’t thinking about Magnus’ hands on him, like Magnus isn’t the most exciting, erotic thing to happen to him in his nearly thirty godforsaken years on this rock.  
  
He polishes off half his beer in one go and just when he’s about to explode from anticipation, he looks up to see Magnus watching him. “Oh,” he says, feigning surprise. He doesn’t really succeed, but he’s always been a shitty liar, which is probably why he can’t seem to get ahead in life. This world isn’t built for honest men, he’s found, a lesson first taught to him by his father, who is both wildly successful and equally dishonest. “Hello.”  
  
“Yes, hello,” Magnus says dryly. He’s wearing a deep purple suit, the jacket made from something with a subtle sheen and even darker flocked shapes. _Men don’t just dress like this_. Imagine, going out of the house looking like a model all of the time. Alec tugs on the edges of his frayed henly self-consciously; just the sight of Magnus makes Alec a little stupid in the head.  
  
“I, uh, I didn’t expect to see you there.”  
  
Magnus takes a sip of his drink, something bright green and vicious. He makes an expansive gesture; it’s lacking its usual elegance and Alec wonders how long he’s been here drinking alone. “Here I am.”  
  
Alec means to tell Magnus he’s not a prostitute. He means to ask Magnus out on a date. He really does. But when he leans close, what tumbles out of his lips is, “Wanna go back to my place?”  
  
  
\---

  
  
He managed to clean his room up and stuff his briefcase into the postage-stamp-sized closet. So, his room’s almost respectable when he pushes Magnus through the door, Magnus making hot little needy noises beneath his onslaught.  
  
“Been thinking about you all week,” Alec manages between messy, open-mouthed kisses. The sense of possibility, the electric thrill of wanting something within his grasp and nearly having it crackles in his veins. Alec breaks the kiss and asks breathlessly, “What do you want?”  
  
“That’s a big question,” Magnus says, bemused. “Too much, I’m afraid. And more than you’d care to hear about tonight.”  
  
“Anything you want,” Alec offers, “I’m yours.” It’s terrifying how much he means it.  
  
Magnus brings up a hand to cup his cheek, his chin, thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip and Alec purses his mouth to press a kiss against it.  
  
A ghost of a smile lingers across Magnus’ lips. “That’s not quite true,” Magnus says a little regretfully.  
  
“For tonight it is.”  
  
“Then I guess that’ll have to be good enough.” Magnus wets his lips, eyes raking up and down Alec’s tall body speculatively. “How about a striptease?” He takes a step back and shrugs out of his elegant jacket, folding it, and lightly tossing it across a chair in the corner. Then he sits down on the end of the bed, legs crossed. The room is dim, only the bedside lamp on. His tie clip catches the light and glints bright gold for a moment before he leans back on his arms and the shadows swallow him. He’s unreal, too beautiful to be believed.  
  
“Yeah, sure, I do that all the time,” Alec lies through his teeth, feeling uneasy. He walks over to the complicated setup Izzy bought him four years ago that he only uses at the end of every semester when he feels full up of disappointment at the astonishing levels of stupid he’s regularly subjected to. Whatever he was listening to then is what he’s stuck with now. He hits the play button, feeling a little like the gay Titanic trying to navigate the icy waters of the Atlantic dating pool. Upbeat jazz fills the room.  
  
Magnus’ eyebrows rise comically far on his forehead.  
  
“Duke Ellington always gets me worked up,” Alec says lamely. “I could pick something else if you want, though--”  
  
Magnus’ mouth twitches. “This is fine.”  
  
Jazz, Alec discovers while pulling off his shirt, is deeply difficult to strip to. It’s often more romantic than sexy with no predictable underlying rhythm. Dear god, Alec thinks, giving his hips an experimental little shake, why is he so bad at this?  
  
Alec tries a complicated maneuver in order to get his socks and pants off without looking like too much of a dork, and misjudges the distance between himself and the bed and manages to bounce off the foot of the bed, rolling off the side towards the wall.  
  
Alec lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling, mind a blank shock of static. He’ll be embarrassed about this later. Right now, he can’t quite believe how this is going.  
  
A few fraught seconds later, Magnus’ worried face appears over the side of the bed. “Darling? Are you quite all right?”  
  
“I think something’s broken,” Alec manages.  
  
Magnus’ eyes go wide. “What?”  
  
“My dignity,” Alec grits out, rolling over and rising to his knees. He heaves himself back onto the bed like a dying walrus.  
  
“Poor dear,” Magnus says, checking him over for injury. He looks genuinely worried and Alec wonders if he’s this kind to all random hookers he meets or Alec is just his favorite. The thought makes him grimace.  
  
“Right,” Alec huffs, starfished out on the bed. “We still gonna do this?”  
  
Though Alec refuses to meet his eyes, Magnus is definitely amused when he responds, “With a romantic offer like that, I don't see how I could say no.”  
  
Alec groans as he gets up to kick his pants off. His damnable socks are _still on_. “How would you like me? Anything you want.”  
  
“Oh?” Magnus says. “The customer is always right? What is this, Burger King? Have it your way?”  
  
“Could be. After all, it’s your dime,” Alec mumbles, crouched down to pull off his socks. He risks looking up and sees Magnus watching him with hot, dark eyes.  
  
“You look good on your knees.”  
  
Alec licks his suddenly dry lips. “Yeah?”  
  
Alec may be many things – underemployed, generally suspicious of people, pedantic to the point of annoying even to casual acquaintances – but this is easy. He can suck a dick. Alec shuffles forward carefully. The old hard floors are worn, in desperate need of refinishing, and it would be embarrassing to get a splinter.  
  
He settles between Magnus’ legs, spreading his knees carefully, hands running over the fine material, silky beneath his palms. There’s something deliciously debauched about being totally naked with a powerful, fully-clothed man above him. Magnus slides to the edge of the bed to give Alec more room to work and Alec grips hold of the zipper, slowly pulling it down to reveal bare skin. Magnus is not wearing any underwear, and Alec nearly expires on the spot.  
  
Alec carefully takes Magnus’ cock out, giving it a few experimental tugs and Magnus’ hand comes up to rake through Alec’s already messy hair. “You can pull if you want to,” Alec says shyly, peering up at Magnus through his eyelashes. “I don’t mind.” An old boyfriend had tugged his hair one time when they were both tipsy, had grabbed a handful and wrapped it around his fingers, fucking Alec’s mouth until he gagged and his eyes watered. His boyfriend had apologized profusely in the morning because that’s not something _good, loving people_ did and Alec didn’t know how to tell him that he’d rather enjoyed it.  
  
At Alec’s offer, Magnus’ breath catches and he guides Alec’s mouth to his cock, groaning loudly when Alec takes him in, loosening his lips and sucking, fast and wet and sloppy. He feels Magnus’ cock touch the back of his throat, and Magnus instinctively pulls back, but Alec breathes through his nose, forcing himself to relax as he pushes forward, feeling Magnus slip all the way in. Magnus’ hand tightens in his hair to the point of pain, and tears prickle at the corners of Alec’s eyes, but it’s _so, so_ good, exactly what he wanted. Alec lets Magnus fuck his mouth, carefully, then faster, his beautiful ringed hands wrapped tight in Alec’s hair. They're a grounding point, a tether to his body and mind, a thousand miles above Earth and flying high.  
  
Magnus’ thighs are flexing, bunching beneath his sweaty palms, and Magnus grips his shoulders and tries to ease Alec off his dick, but Alec stubbornly refuses, sucking him through his orgasm, the taste of Magnus’ come a welcome bitterness in the back of his mouth. Immediately after, Magnus hauls him up, surprising Alec. He always forgets how strong Magnus is. Magnus slants his mouth over Alec’s, kissing him deep and chasing his own taste with his tongue.  
  
“Fuck,” Magnus pants, breaking the kiss. “You’re good at that.”  
  
“Mmm,” Alec hums impatiently, his own cock heavy and hot between his legs. Magnus’ eyes fall to where Alec’s pathetically trying to rub his dick against Magnus clothed hip.  
  
“Lay back on the bed and touch yourself. I want to see you come.”  
  
Alec nearly breaks something in his haste to scramble up. It feels like something that would have embarrassed him with anyone else, but he barely recognizes the sound he makes as he leans back against the headboard, legs falling open, hand finally touching his aching cock.  
  
Magnus has tucked himself away and knee-walks up the bed to elegantly perch between Alec’s sweaty, shaking knees._ That slick bastard._  
  
His eyes have fallen shut and he concentrates on the feel of his fingers moving against his skin, the touch of his hand stroking his cock, imagining that it’s Magnus touching him. He hears the sound of metal hitting the side table, a drawer being opened, then a hand catches his wrist and his eyes fly open. He feels drugged, drunk on lust. “M-Magnus?”  
  
“Let me,” Magnus says and Alec lays back, stroking his dick. He’s so, so close already and the slick touch of Magnus’ fingers to his ass, the press of his fingers into his hole, makes his stomach tighten and back arch. “You can take two fingers, right?” Magnus murmurs. “I bet you could take even more, you’re so good for me.”  
  
“I try,” Alec says, feeling overheated, feverish. He doesn’t know what pushes him over the edge, the feel of Magnus’ fingers fucking in and out of him, or his soft words about how good Alec is, or the absolute alien feeling of being seen and accepted at the basic part of him, but soon enough, he’s clenching around Magnus’ fingers, stripping his dick faster through his orgasm, through the aftershocks, as Magnus eases his fingers out and presses a tender kiss against his inner thigh.  
  
“You were perfect,” Magnus says.  
  
That’s not true. No man is, and Alec far less than most, but he finds it’s nice to pretend for a little while.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
Afterward, Alec wonders if Magnus is going to leave immediately. He’s just come out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel and offers it to Alec, who takes it gratefully. He stops at the nightstand, carefully putting his rings back on. “You could stay awhile.”  
  
Magnus' face is carefully blank. “Don’t you have work to do?”  
  
He doesn’t know what Magnus is talking about at first until it dawns on him. Oh, fuck. He thinks Alec needs to go out and have sex with more men._ Christ_. Now would be the ideal time to come clean, but it doesn’t feel right with Alec’s ass still aching pleasantly, the taste of Magnus lingering on the back of his throat. Next time. Next time he’ll tell Magnus.  
  
“It’s my night off.” Truthfully, Alec had planned to spend the evening drinking and working on a rubric that he’s far too much of a coward to implement. He’s been working off an ancient, university-approved one that’s survived the cold war. He would like to modernize the class, make it a little less of a snoozefest, but people that rock the boat don’t make tenure.  
  
Magnus looks at him askance and Alec realizes his mistake almost immediately. If he has the night off, then what's he doing cruising Brooklyn bars and taking clients home? His life has recently become such a tangled mess of general fuckery that he finds he has to specify exactly which mistake he’s referring to at any given time.  
  
“You’re the exception,” Alec says quickly.  
  
Magnus pauses, his ring lingering at his knuckle. He looks up, all frank curiosity without judgment. And why should he judge Alec? He’s selling his time and his body, but Magnus is the one buying.  
  
Jesus, Alec’s really thinking of himself as a hooker. Clary will be thrilled to be informed that she’s become his pimp.  
  
Magnus cocks his head. “What did I do to earn such special esteem?”  
  
Alec shrugs. “You said you don’t usually do this. Why me?”  
  
Magnus finishes with his rings and takes a graceful seat next to Alec on the bed. “The night we met, I watched you at the bar for a long time, you know.”  
  
He hadn’t known.  
  
“People kept coming up and trying to talk to you.”  
  
“What? No, they didn’t.”  
  
Magnus chuckles, reaches out and brushes the back of a hand against Alec’s cheek. “Sure they did. You just didn’t notice. When it got awkward, they either just walked away or asked for the bathroom. I guess I flattered myself that you were waiting for me.”  
  
Alec swallows. “And then you found out--”  
  
“I thought you were maybe still waiting for me.”  
  
Maybe Alec was.

“True or not,” Magnus says briskly, getting up and straightening his tie. “I’m sometimes prone to romantic notions, or else that’s what I’ve been told.” Alec feels the loss of his warmth keenly.  
  
“You could call me.” Alec dredges up the tatters of his confidence. “If you wanted. I know what this is. I wouldn’t expect anything.”  
  
Magnus considers him for a moment and wordlessly produces his phone, handing it over. Alec takes it with shaky hands and programs his number in.  
  
When Magnus gets it back, he pushes it back into his jacket pocket and kisses Alec on the forehead. “It’s okay to expect things from other people, Alexander.”  
  
It really isn’t but that’s not something he wants to talk about right now. He recalls that he’s found Magnus in Brooklyn twice now and he doesn’t know if it’s allowed, but he asks, “Do you live around here?”  
  
“I have a place in Brooklyn, but I’ve been traveling for a long time.” He sounds tired.  
  
So, the line about never seeing Alec before was really just a cheesy pickup line. He couldn’t say why, but it makes him like Magnus more.  
  
The sheet is pooled in his lap and boldly, Alec pushes it aside. He’s naked and he runs a hand along Magnus’ broad shoulders. “Been traveling for business or pleasure?”  
  
Magnus rakes his eyes up and down Alec’s body again. “Mostly business. But right now, it’s all pleasure.”  
  
“Then let’s see what else the night has in store for us,” Alec says, pulling Magnus down on top of him.

\---

Alec is staring down unhappily at his small wad of money when Clary stumbles out of her room. Magnus had been more than generous with him, leaving $400 in cash on his nightstand. He supposes he really appreciated the blow job.

He still doesn’t know how to tell Magnus the truth.

"How did your date go?" he asks Clary.

"Eh," she says, shrugging her narrow shoulders, like she didn't stumble in at some ungodly hour with a neck full of hickeys like a high schooler on Spring Break. "How did your night go?"

Alec holds up his money.

“Wow, you’re really into the life, aren’t you?” Clary asks, craning her neck to look at the cash. “If I ever can't find you, should I be checking street corners?”

“Ha fucking ha,” Alec says and shoves the money in his pocket. He pours her a cup of coffee, glad that he woke up before her. Her coffee is awful, even Clary agrees. “I’m not a hooker.”

Clary frowns. “Did you see that guy again?”

“Yes,” Alec admits.

“Did you have sex with him for money?”

Alec manfully doesn’t answer. Some accusations shouldn’t even be dignified with a response. She accepts his offered coffee and takes a sip. “I could look up the legal definition on my phone, but--”

“I get it,” Alec says loudly. He doesn’t need to be told he’s fucked up. Sure, the whole thing started as a misunderstanding but he has the feeling that when he gets frogmarched out of his home at 2 am, his face plastered across the nightly news, his defense of “_I’m not really a hooker because it was exciting, your honor_” won’t be enough to keep him out of prison.

Oh God, his mom will give him that disappointed look while she’s topping off his commissary funds so he can buy Flamin' Hot Cheetos to trade for Xanax smuggled into the prison via rectum of a large man named Franz the Manz.

All morning, Alec’s so shaken by the knowledge that he is, in fact, a prostitute that he misses his stop at West Fourth and nearly ends up in Tribeca. He slows down while passing every bush, expecting the entirety of the FBI to come bursting out from behind the manicured foliage.

Magnus probably lives someplace hopelessly classy like that, whereas Alec is wearing a cheap suit with a scuffed briefcase full of tragic freshmen essays that he can’t quite bring himself to read. Yeah, _Romeo and Juliet_ is like, really sad and super ironic. Surprisingly, he can read SparkNotes too.

Due to his paranoia and despite sprinting the last block, he ends up fifteen minutes late to the damn class he’s teaching. Face flushed red and gulping air, he skids into his classroom just in time to remember that it's Sunday.

There are no two ways about it, Alec is out of fucking control and he doesn’t know how to put the brakes on. What’s more, he’s not sure he even wants to.


	3. Chapter 3

Alec’s sitting on his couch and watching reruns of _Queer Eye_ when Maia calls to ask how everything’s going. He pauses the TV and answers his cellphone eagerly. Ever since she moved across the country for a prestigious fellowship, he’s _missed_ her.  
  
How they became friends is anyone’s guess. They’d met during a freshman party in college and bonded over both possessing an equally argumentative nature.  
  
“Hey,” he answers the phone with a sniffle.  
  
“What’s going on,” she asks suspiciously.  
  
“Nothing,” Alec answers, hastily swiping at his eyes.  
  
“I told you not to watch those weepy reality shows,” Maia says in an admonishing tone. “You cry at _every_ episode of _Extreme Home Makeover_.”  
  
Alec rolls his eyes fondly and lies back, stretching out on the couch. “Yeah, shame you’re not here to stop me.”  
  
Maia makes a tsking sound.  
  
“What’s California like?”  
  
“It’s pretty. Expensive. Hot – like boob sweat stains hot.”  
  
“I don’t know what that is,” Alec says, “but I will be suitably outraged on your behalf.”  
  
“Thanks,” Maia says. “What are you up to?”  
  
“Same old. Starting out the school year, lots of freshmen. Nothing much has changed,” Alec lies and mentally adds,_ If you don’t count my fun foray into paid sex work._ “How about you?”  
  
As she launches into a story about trying cioppino for the first time, Alec stares out the window. The season is changing, the trees fading from vibrant green to brown and gold and red. This will be his first winter in nearly seven years without her. And with Clary secreting off with suitors unknown, Alec can’t help but feel that he’s never been quite so alone.

\---

  
  
  
The next day, Alec hurries a small Chinese restaurant just off campus to meet Izzy and Jace for their weekly dinner together. It has, over the past three years, given each of them food poisoning on multiple occasions, but it’s within walking distance, tasty, and incredibly cheap.  
  
When he arrives, the tiny silver bell above the door tinkling, Izzy’s already there, sipping on coffee. She flags him down from her table in the center, and Alec waves through the mismatched furniture to slide in across from her. Jace is late, as usual.  
  
Alec orders his favorite and a glass of water, loosening his tie.  
  
It takes a moment for Alec to notice that Izzy’s practically vibrating in her seat.  
  
Alec raises an eyebrow. “Why are you in such a good mood?” Alec asks, then immediately feels like an ass. Just because he’s a miserable prick doesn’t mean everyone else should be. Whatever the reason, he’s happy to see her happy.  
  
She barely seems to notice his sour mood and holds up her hand where there’s a thin gold band on the ring finger with a tiny diamond.  
  
“Wow, Iz,” Alec says, stunned. Because he’s deeply boring and practical to the point of unsentimental, the next thing that tumbles from his mouth is, “What are you two going to do for money?” They’ll obviously choose to live together and Izzy survives on a precarious balance of work-study, scholarships, student loans, and patronizing an establishment which regularly makes her ill.  
  
“Things will be okay. That's the second part of my good news.” She looks around furtively to make sure they're alone. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone because it hasn’t been announced yet, but you’re looking at the recipient of the Davidson Grant.”  
  
“Wow,” Alec says again and leans back in his seat. He has to take a moment to process. The Davidson Grant is one of the most prestigious for graduate students. He’d tried for it once and hadn’t made it through the first round.  
  
“Isn’t it great?”  
  
“But you’re so young,” Alec says before he has a chance to think. As soon as he says it, he wants to take the words back.  
  
Izzy looks hurt. “I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve, but I didn’t think you wouldn't either. I finally thought my life was coming together.”  
  
“Iz, I didn’t mean that,” Alec tries. “Of course, I’m happy for you.” He would explain to her how hard it is to be an adult, how plans for the future are a double-edged sword, and real life is what happens in between those carefully plotted moments. That he is_ scared_ for her. But that’s a lesson she’ll learn in time, and there’s no reason to burden her with the knowledge yet.  
  
The bell above the door jangles and a couple seconds later, Jace punches him in the arm companionably. “Sorry I’m late.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Izzy says. “I was just telling Alec the good news.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Jace pulls out a chair next to Alec and sits down. “I’ve got some good news of my own.”  
  
“You’re engaged too?” Alec asks. Because why not. Sure, Jace used to eat the white school paste when they were kids because he liked the smell, but why shouldn’t he be happy and get married and get a promotion just to underline what an utter hash Alec’s made of his own life. Bad enough when it’s total strangers but he’s now being surpassed by his _younger siblings_.  
  
Jace does a doubletake. He looks at Alec like he just asked if he’d like a glassful of runny shit to drink. “No. But I did have a talk with the principal of the school and he mentioned that the vice principal was looking to retire in a couple years. He hinted that if I turned my extra classes into a master’s that I’d be a good candidate.”  
  
“Congrats, Jace," Izzy says.  
  
“Yeah, congratulations, man,” Alec echoes. The past year, Jace has been working really hard. He’s come a long way from the mess that Clary broke up with. If Alec has a knot in the pit of his stomach, then that's his own problem to deal with.  
  
Alec takes a drink of his ice water and picks at his food, listening to Izzy and Jace excitedly plan for the future. He tries to be happy and equally enthusiastic –- and once he’s had time to digest the news, he’s sure he will be –- but right now, the news sticks in his throat just like the cashew chicken he once loved.  
  
  
\---

  
  
Afterward, Alec pays, leaves the restaurant, picks a random direction and starts walking. He makes it nearly three blocks before he realizes he has no clue where he’s going. It's Thursday, so Clary has a late class and he doesn't want to burden Maia with this while she’s having the time of her life in California.  
  
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, Alec thinks, head down. But lemons are awful and bitter and only crazy people like lemons.  
  
So, he texts Magnus instead. _You up for tonight?_  
  
This is not what they _do_ and Alec wonders if he's crossing some unspoken boundry. But he’s lost and angry at himself, crouched down by a street garbage can and chewing the cuticle off his thumbnail, watching the message send.

He doesn't really expect a response, but the message changes almost immediately to_ read_ and he stares at the _dot dot dot_ as Magnus types his response. It's taking forever. Ice ages have come and gone by the time Magnus' simple _yes_ pops up on the screen. Followed by: _But I’m not up to going out. Come by my place?_

Well, this is new. This seems personal, intimate, and Alec is a little horrified how much he wants to say yes, how much he wants to see Magnus.

Alec takes a deep breath and texts back, _Sure_  
  
A second later, an address comes up.

\---  
  
  
Alec has to check that he had the right address multiple times. When he gets to the building, he thinks,_ This can’t be right_. And again, when he takes the rickety elevator to the top floor. When he enters the narrow hall, there’s only one door, and his fears ease. Of course, Magnus has the entire top floor.  
  
He hesitantly raises his hand before knocking twice against the intricate, carved wood.  
  
A second later, Magnus answers. He’s wearing a silky robe down to his knees, matching drawstring pants, bare-chested with a tantalizing amount of chest on display.  
  
_He’s so beautiful_, Alec thinks, breath catching.  
  
“I’m glad you found my place,” Magnus says. He slowly takes in Alec’s rumpled suit, his scuffed briefcase full of tragic essays.  
  
“Sometimes I dress up,” Alec mumbles and lets Magnus make of it what he will. But Magnus lets the unvoiced question drop and opens the door wider, beckoning Alec inside.  
  
“Yeah, I—I shouldn’t have called," Alec says. "But I didn’t know who else--" Alec lets the sentence fade before he makes the saddest statement uttered._ I didn't know who else to call_ or _I didn't have anyone else_.  
  
“Think nothing of it. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” His loft is impressive. It's a clash of bright colors, a strange mix of sophisticated and tacky thrown together in a haphazard manner that with poor people is considered crazy but the rich are eccentric.  
  
“I haven’t been here long, so it’s kind of a mess.”  
  
Alec spies taped up boxes in the corner.  
  
Magnus heads to the kitchen, Alec trailing behind him as Magnus picks up a knife and begins cutting some vegetables. There’s a pot bubbling on the stove. “Feel free to put your coat anywhere. I’m just making a simple stir fry.”  
  
Alec takes off his coat and lays it out over one of the chairs, stashing his briefcase next to the couch, out of sight. There’s a balcony on one side of the room with a bar cart parked in front. “Smells good,” he calls out.  
  
“It’s a simple stir fry, but I’m far too tired for anything more complicated.”  
  
“I didn’t know you cooked.” Alec immediately feels like a fool. Of course, he didn’t know Magnus cooked; he barely knows anything about him. He joins Magnus in the kitchen, leaning over the counter. “Can I help?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Magnus hums happily. “I used to cook a great deal, but got out of the habit.”  
  
“So what’s got you in the mood tonight?”  
  
Magnus hesitates and looks up at Alec. “Things are changing.”  
  
“For the better?”  
  
“That remains to be seen,” Magnus says. “Hungry?”  
  
“Famished,” Alec says. In more ways than one.  
  
“Good.” Magnus nods towards the bar cart. “I have white wine chilling there. Can you pour a couple glasses?”  
  
“Yeah,” Alec says. It’s pleasantly warm in the kitchen, full of fragrant spices and Magnus’ knife making a rhymic thwack-thwack-thwack against the chopping board.  
  
If he tells Magnus the truth now, Magnus won’t want him anymore. And Magnus is more than exciting to Alec, he’s kind and lovely, graceful and overly generous, a mystery that Alec wants desperately to understand. He needs Magnus in a way he doesn't fully understand yet. He'll tell Magnus as soon as he figures out how.  
  
But this doesn’t feel like a business appointment, this feels like a date.  
  
Alec hears the hiss of the vegetables hitting hot oil as he pops the cork and pours the first glass. He takes a drink. It’s crisp and fresh with a hint of fruit at the back of his tongue. He pours another glass and sets it on the table, already set for two. There are four pillar candles in the center, casting flickering light over the space, low and intimate.  
  
“Do you feel like music?”  
  
“Sure,” Alec says.  
  
“What do you like?”  
  
“Suprise me.”  
  
A minute later, Jazzy music fills the apartment. Alec feels his face heat as he recognizes the opening strains. It’s Duke Ellington. He goes back to the kitchen, settling on a stool next to the counter. “You asshole,” he says.  
  
Magnus laughs. “Try to keep your clothes on this time. At least until after dinner.”  
  
“I’ll do my best,” Alec promises, “but you know how I get.”  
  
  
\---

  
  
The stir fry is good, flavorful, the vegetables tender and crispy with a spicy garlic sauce. Alec takes a bite and groans appreciatively. He polishes off his glass of wine.  
  
“You seem tired,” Magnus says quietly. The flickering candles play over his face, highlighting the darkness of his eyes, his incredible cheekbones.  
  
“It’s been a tough day,” Alec says miserably and thinks better of it. “Scratch that, it’s been a tough decade.” He adds hastily, “You know, with the hooking.”  
  
Magnus’ face does something complicated and his mouth twitches. He gets up and refills Alec’s glass before setting the wine on the table and taking his seat again. “Yes, the hooking. How could I forget?”  
  
“So,” Alec says, taking another mouthful of his wine and letting the sweetness roll over his tongue for a moment before swallowing. “Can I ask you a question?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“If I were in a – let’s say – professional predicament where all of my peers were being promoted above me, what would you suggest?”  
  
“Promoted in what way?”  
  
“Uh,” Alec says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “The higher echelons of hooking. Stable prostitution. The brass ring of the sex trade, you might say.”

Oh holy god, Alec can't believe the amount of stupid shit he's saying.  
  
“I see,” Magnus says, fingers steepled. “I suppose I would ask why you got into your chosen profession in the first place.”  
  
“Eh,” Alec says. “Circumstance? My whole family is in the industry and it made sense at the time.”  
  
“Your whole family?”  
  
Christ, Alec realizes, he is just digging himself in so deep. His mother will be surprised to learn she's now in the sex trade. “Yes?”  
  
“And is your family important to you?”  
  
He doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “Very important.”  
  
Magnus dabs at his mouth with a fabric napkin and leans back in his chair. “That’s good. I never really had a family.”  
  
“Sorry,” Alec says. And he is. For all that they cause him headaches, they’re the most important thing in the world to him.  
  
“There's no use in being sorry about facts. Do you actually like your job?”  
  
“Parts of it.” It’s hard to believe it, but there was a time just a short while ago that Alec found his job worthwhile, that he enjoyed it.  
  
“Is there a way to expand the parts you like without the objective of reaching the higher echelons of--”  
  
“Hookers?” Alec supplies.  
  
“Yes,” Magnus finishes. “That.”  
  
“I guess. I mean, what’s the point if I don’t aim for a goal?”  
  
“Doing something you enjoy? Alexander, what’s the point of anything?”  
  
“I --” Alec doesn’t know whether it’s hilarious or deeply sad that they’re discussing Alec finding his life’s satisfaction in prostitution.  
  
Magnus leans forward, carefully making eye contact with Alec. “My life got better when I realized that this all means nothing. The only thing that matters is what we do, what we feel, and how we make others feel.”  
  
“You’re right,” Alec admits.  
  
“Now that’s out of the way,” Magnus says briskly, standing up and picking up the plates. Alec grabs the glasses and follows him into the kitchen where Magnus is rinsing off the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He’s done in a couple minutes and wiping his hands on a towel. “Shall we retire to the bedroom or would you like to do something else?”  
  
Alec is pleasantly full and warm and two the glasses of wine are catching up to him. Without his righteous anger keeping him upright, Alec feels his eyelids start to droop and he sways on his feet.  
  
Magnus catches him by the arm. “Shower and bed, I think.”  
  
Magnus steers him through the bedroom, through a set of double doors, and into a tiled bathroom. He turns on the shower, letting the water heat up and leaves Alec to strip. Alec unbuttons his top and kicks off his pants, leaving them in a careless pile in the corner. He opens the shower door and steps in. Immediately, the hot water hits his back and he hisses at the pins and needles feeling of his body warming up. He hadn’t realized he was so cold.  
  
Alec just stands there under the warm spray until there’s a cool blast of air and Magnus steps in behind him.  
  
His eyes feel tired, gritty, as he leans forward against the tiled wall. “Uh, I could blow you,” Alec offers half-heartedly.  
  
“Mmm, tempting as the offer is, let’s see how you feel in the morning,” Magnus says and Alec smells something rich and a little spicy as strong hands work their way through his hair. It’s the scent Alec first smelled at the bar when he met Magnus. “Lean back and let me rinse out your hair.” Alec leans back against Magnus’ chest and closes his eyes, letting the hot water sluice over him, concentrating on the feel of Magnus’ hand in his hair, the other running up his belly, his chest, palm coming to rest over his heart.

It’s been so long since someone has taken care of him.  
  
Alec’s exhausted, limbs heavy and mind foggy. “Magnus, I just don’t know what’s so wrong about me.”  
  
The last thing he feels is the press of soft lips against his neck. “Nothing at all,” Magnus says.


	4. Chapter 4

In the early morning, the sky still dark behind the sheer curtains, Alec wakes up with Magnus’ arm a warm weight against his belly. Alec groans and rolls over, where Magnus’ eyes are open and he’s looking at Alec, dark eyes gleaming in the low light offered by the half-moon. 

“Stalker,” Alec says, voice raspy. He stretches out until he hears his back pop, then burrows back under the covers.

Magnus reaches out and brushes Alec’s hair back from his face. “It’s hard to sleep with you around. Did you know that you snore?”

“The fuck I do,” Alec says.

Magnus makes a little snoring sound. “It’s adorable.”

“I’ll show you adorable,” Alec says and rolls over on top of him.

“I’m not entirely convinced,” Magnus says a little breathlessly. 

Alec kisses him, moving his way down Magnus’ neck and bare chest.

“Getting warmer,” Magnus says, voice catching. Alec lightly bites one of his dusky brown nipples and Magnus yelps. “You’re right, you’re adorable.”

Alec makes his way down further, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah?”

“Precious, delightful, enchanting.”

“Those are all synonyms for adorable.”

“How astute.”

Alec almost makes the comment,_ teacher_, but stops himself at the last minute. “Mmm, I try.” He reaches up and cups Magnus’ rapidly hardening cock. “Now?”

His voice is high, strung taut, on the verge of cracking. “Fetching, pleasing.”

Alec pulls his boxer briefs down and takes his cock into his mouth, watching Magnus stare down at him, mouth slack with surprised desire.

Alec blows him for a while, relishing the weight and taste of him against his tongue until he can feel Magnus tense, his balls drawn up tight, and Alec pulls off just to be an asshole. Magnus makes a frustrated sound.

“Sorry,” Alec says, though he really isn’t. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, getting them wet and sloppy. “Ass up,” he tells Magnus, because he’s real elegant with words.

“Whatever you want,” Magnus murmurs, looking up at him through dark eyelashes, which sends a hot shiver of desire racing through Alec. That’s not strictly true; Alec has never gotten the things he wanted until now. He wants Magnus – desperately, all-consuming – and he can have him, if only for this little while. 

Magnus kicks his underwear off, grabs a pillow and shoves it under him, and Alec wets his fingers again before running them up behind his balls, stopping at his entrance. Alec pushes a finger in slowly before adding another one and resting them there, crooked inside Magnus’ body, rubbing his prostate while Alec leans down and sucks him wth more enthusiasm than skill, but Magnus isn't complaining.

“Oh, oh, _fuck me_,” Magnus pants, hips bucking. He sounds confused, unsure whether to fuck himself down against Alec’s fingers or up into his mouth.

This seems like a terrible idea. But they can’t seem to stop running right past invisible barriers, and Alec is powerless to say no against the Magnus' electric draw. He'll be here for as long as Magnus wants him. They seem specifically designed to bring out the stupid in each other, but there’s nowhere Alec can think of that he’d rather be than in-between Magnus’ knees, with his long fingers buried in Alec’s hair.

Magnus gives the short strands an insistent tug and Alec pulls off with an obscene slurp. “Seriously, fuck me.”

“Are you sure?” Alec says, but Magnus is already pushing Alec off and rolling over on his side, leg pulled up to give Alec better access. He guesses this means Magnus is sure.

“Bedside table, your side.”

Alec reaches over and pulls the drawer open, feels around and finds lube and condoms. He tears one off the strip and opens it with his teeth, spits the top of the wrapper off the side of the bed, and rolls it on himself. He squirts some lube onto his fingers and reaches over to where Magnus is already loose and open.

Magnus’ head drops down. “I don’t need – I’m already relaxed.”

Alec pushes his slicked-up fingers in, relishing the sharp intake of breath, the play of muscles on Magnus’ back. “You were so careful with me. I’d like to return the favor.”

“Oh,” Magnus says quietly, like it had never occurred to him that his kindness might be reciprocated.

Alec fingers him carefully, leans down to lick around his fingers at the tight little furl of muscle twitching around him. 

“Ah!” Magnus says, hands clutching blindly at the sheets. Alec pulls his fingers out, holding him open and replacing them with his tongue, lapping at Magnus’ hole, dipping inside and swirling his tongue just for the way Magnus’ legs shake against him.

He pulls back. “Ready?” Alec asks, leaning over to see his face.

“Of course I am,” Magnus grunts, sounding exasperated. A light sheen of sweat covers his body, gathering at his temples and clavicle. He looks ready. He looks utterly debauched. 

Still, Alec holds his breath as he pushes into Magnus’ body, the tight heat enveloping him slowly. Magnus makes a sound like all the breath has been punched out of him, his sides heaving under Alec’s touch. “Give me a minute,” he says.

As athletic and wild as their sex has been so far, this is the exact opposite. Alec fucks into Magnus slowly, languorously rolling his hips, holding him in place with one hand wrapped low over his belly. Magnus is nearly silent, but his hand is wrapped tightly around Alec’s as Alec fucks him slow and sweet, panting into his ear.

The curtains are rippling, casting strange shadows in the moonlight, and he watches the shapes move over the taut lines of Magnus’ body as Magnus makes shuddery little sighs beneath him.

“Magnus, I’m going to--”

“Come on,” Magnus says, voice low and urgent. He pulls Alec’s hand down to cover his own cock, hard and leaking. Alec can’t think clearly enough to coordinate movements, was never good at it, anyway, so he lets Magnus guide his hand where he wants it until he feels Magnus tense up and come, warm and messy across his fingers. The motion’s enough to send Alec tumbling over that precarious edge, grunting softly, pressed up tight against Magnus’ back, inhaling the sharp scent of sweat, of his rich shampoo.

Alec pulls out and Magnus turns his head, kissing Alec, shameless and open-mouthed and shockingly tender.

Magnus breaks the kiss a little regretfully. “We should get cleaned up.”

Afterward, once Magnus settles back in bed, Alec curved around him like a possessive comma, Alec thinks about the time and says, “I have to be up early in the morning. I should probably go.”

“Stay,” Magnus says, bringing his hand up and kissing his knuckles.

“Yeah, okay.” 

Alec holds him closer. He's easy to convince. He never really wanted to go, but he always offers. Magnus is the only person he can remember who’s ever asked him to stay.

\---

Alec wakes up a bit later and reaches out, but the sheets are cool and empty. Someone pulled the curtains back and soft morning sunlight pours through the windows, bright and buttery yellow. There’s a bite to the air, reminding him that autumn has rolled into town and set up shop. Like most New Yorkers, it’s just renting and winter will follow soon behind.

Alec sits up, watching the room with wary eyes. On the nightstand, there’s a stack of bills. He rubs the back of his neck, sighing. _Enough_. This has gone on for too long.

A second later, Magnus bustles in, already impeccably dressed and tying some kind of fancy-cravat-thing around his throat. His hair is styled, a tiny smudge of eyeliner on, and Alec pushes down the disappointed feeling that Magnus has tucked himself away again. 

“Magnus, I have something to tell you,” Alec says, a feeling of dread weighing him down.

“Yes?” Magnus looks down at his wristwatch quickly, then notices Alec watching him. “Sorry, there’s a bit of an emergency at work. As it turns out, some people can’t be discreet.”

In Alec’s experience, that sums up just about everyone, but it’s enough to derail his train of thought. “What do you do?”

Magnus hesitates, then says, “I’m a doctor. I just came back to New York after a – a bad breakup.”

“Shit, sorry.” Alec rakes a hand through his hair, the sheets pooled in his lap.

“Don’t be,” Magnus says, sitting down on the side of the bed to slip his shoes on. “It was a bad relationship, but I learned a lot. There are some people that I’m simply better without.”

“What happened?” Alec shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It was pretty bad. She lied to me a lot and made me feel like it was my fault. It took me a long time to learn that not everyone you love will be good for you.”

“That’s a sad lesson to learn.”

“Sometimes the most valuable ones are. I’ve had a hard time trusting people since then.”

Alec’s mouth goes dry, his body cold. “I-I can see why,” he manages.

Magnus waves a dismissive hand. “It was a long time ago. Enough about me. What did you want to say earlier?”

“Nothing,” Alec says, feeling sick.

“Well, if you think of it later, you can always text or call.” Magnus bends down, carefully lacing his shoes, not looking at Alec.

“I’ll do that,” Alec says, scooting forward. He lays a hand on Magnus’ shoulder and feels it relax.

Magnus turns around and drops a kiss onto Alec’s cheek and lingers there, nose pressed against his skin. “Bacon, eggs, and waffles in the kitchen on the counter. Feel free to help yourself.”

“Do you always eat such a big breakfast, Doctor?”

He feels Magnus grin against his cheek. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made everything.”

\---

Alec listens to the sound of Magnus' footsteps fade and retreat, the front door opening and closing behind him.

He stares up at the ceiling, wondering exacty how the hell he got himself into this pridicament. He can retrace every step, follow his own line of reasoning, and still end up baffled. He groans as he sits up and rolls out of bed. His clothes are still in an untidy pile in the bathroom. He scoops them up and goes back to the bedroom to get dressed, gaze lingering on a silver frame on the nightstand. He wads his tie up and stuffs it into his pocket, leaving the top two buttons on his shirt undone. The picture is of Magnus with a man that looks vaguely familiar and a woman, all smiling broadly. They look happy.

With a finger, he traces the lines of Magnus’ grinning face. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Magnus that happy before. “What happened to you?” But the photograph doesn’t provide any answers, only more questions. Alec sighs and puts the frame down before wandering into the kitchen, where there’s a smorgasbord on display.

Alec reaches out and takes waffle, eating it plain like a piece of toast as he wanders around the lush apartment, feeling a little like an unwashed, godless heathen.

It’s sort of astonishing to him that Magnus would just leave him alone in his apartment. Alec could steal all his stuff, sell that weird bust-thing by the window for a pack of smokes. Alec’s dated people for_ years_ and never let them stay alone in his apartment, though it probably said more about him than the population's general state of trustworthiness.

_I’ve had a hard time trusting people since then. _

Alec feels his whole body try to cringe. He’s not being dramatic or anything, but he wishes he could scrape those words from his brain and go back to a time when he just felt like a liar and not a total scumbag. But Magnus told him something valuable about himself, and he can’t regret getting to know Magnus better because the more he finds out, the more he likes him.

Alec’s going to tell him the truth, but he needs to pick his words and time wisely. Magnus means too much for him to do otherwise.

A beautiful cat slinks into the room and jumps onto the back of the couch, staring up at Alec with baleful eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Alec says.

The cat looks deeply unimpressed.

“Don’t judge me too harshly,” Alec says, feeling a little stupid, a little out of sorts, but that’s hardly new. “I already judge myself enough.”

Alec grabs a piece of bacon and puts the leftovers in the refrigerator before leaving. He has to get out of here before he begins talking to the walls.

\---

When Alec gets back to his apartment, Clary is sitting on the counter cross-legged and eating a bowl of cereal. “Well, well,” Clary chirps. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame.”

Alec points an accusing finger at her. “I refuse to be slut-shamed, Fray.”

“Who’s trying to shame you?" Clary asks, laughing. She's way too lively for this early in the morning. "I was totally all for you going out and getting laid. You’re a lot nicer when you’re relaxed. Sex makes you way less peevish.”

Alec sighs and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of orange juice. He grabs a glass and fills it half-full.

Clary's face falls, and she reaches out to snag the sleeve of his jacket. “Hey, everything okay?”

“I think I fucked up.”

“God, you didn’t sleep with that creepy mime that hangs out around Union Square?’

“No,” Alec complains loudly. “God, you you make one drunken mistake at a party and no one ever lets you forget it.”

Her voice turns mischevious. “Were you with Magnus?”

Alec doesn’t answer, just keeps sipping his orange juice pensively.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She wrinkles her nose. Many people find her petite features and huge eyes adorable. Alec is not one of those people.

“He might have paid me,” Alec admits.

“Oh, Alec!”

“I know, _ fuck _ \--” Alec rakes a hand through his hair. “ _ You _ told me it was so funny and such a good idea.”

She hops down from the counter. “You know I never think things through!”

“I know, I know,” Alec moans. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash and tosses it onto the counter. His dirty hooker money looks so sad and accusing.

“Holy shit, Alec,” Clary says, elbowing him out of the way. “Do you think I could get these in all ones and roll around naked in them?”

“You could,” Alec says, “but I wouldn’t recommend it. It seems unsanitary.”

She tilts her head, staring up at him curiously. “Why do you keep seeing him? I know you’re not spending the money.”

“I think I really like him,” Alec mumbles.

“Oh my _god_,” Clary says, “you’re in love with him.”

“No,” Alec says defensively. He’s not in love with Magnus, but he can clearly see the day when he will be, and that’s the most frightening aspect of all this. Magnus means too much to him already; he’s the perfect match for an imperfect man. Though selling his body for money never came up on the list of possible occupations during career day, it’s surprisingly easy. You fuck, then get paid. He’s done far worse for far less.

It’s everything else that Alec finds terrifying, though.

“Maybe you guys are meant to be,” Clary says wistfully. “Maybe you’ll tell him the truth and he won’t care because he’s in love with you too.”

“Right,” Alec snorts. “And maybe tomorrow, I’ll win the lottery or spontaneously shoot sunbeams out of my ass.”

“Gotta play to win.” Clary takes the glass from him and drinks the reest of his orange juice, then sets it in the sink. “Kind of like love.”

But Clary always was a secret romantic, prone to disgusting amounts of sentimentality unbecoming in a native New Yorker. Alec is made of sterner stuff. He hopes.

After all, one person only wins the lottery because everyone else loses.

\---

On Tuesday, Alec’s sitting on the couch, freshman essays spread out on the table in front of him. They’re not as hideous as he was expecting. Sure, most are modeled on the typical highschool introduction-body-conclusion model, but there’s a few with surprising insight.

He has the place to himself tonight. Clary’s out doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who and no matter how much Alec tries to needle the details out of her, she refuses to divulge any clues.

Maia calls again and says, “How’s tricks” by way of greeting and Alec drops his pen. For one heart-stopping moment, Alec’s convinced she knows everything.

Then it registers that she’s not asking if Alec’s turning them, and his spirit settles back into his body.

“Things are fine,” he wheezes, clutching at his still rabbiting heart. His life of prostitution is going to drive him to drink. He catches sight of the time on his phone and does some quick calculations in his head. “Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, but why are you calling at 5 am?”

“It’s 4 here,” Maia corrects him, then, “sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

Her voice sound muffled, thick. Alec sets his pen down on the coffee table and leans forward, his elbows propped upon his knees. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

Maia sniffs. “Nothing, I’m just being a baby.”

Maia is the least baby-ish person Alec knows. “If it upsets you, then it’s not nothing.”

“It’s just—I thought things would be different. When I got away from my horrible family, my ex. I just needed a fresh start.”

It hurts that Maia needed to make her fresh start away from him, but he gets it. “Not as easy as you thought?”

“No, turns out, it’s not easy at all. When the problem is something inside of you – well, you can’t outrun yourself.”

Isn’t that just the awful truth? Alec wanted to be someone else, anybody else, for just a few measly hours a day. But he ended up taking something he had no business having, and now he and Magnus are stuck playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette with their hearts. 

And eventually, one of them has to lose. The only question now is which one of them it’s going to be.


	5. Chapter 5

For once, Alec isn’t running late. He’s walking at a brisk pace up E. 8th, thinking about the presentation he has to get together for the end of the week to beg – if not to get more money for the English dept, but to keep the dwindling budget they already have – when Jace calls. Though Alec is no one of importance in the department, amongst ta staff dotted with ironic eyewear, he has accrued the terrifying reputation of being organized and generally having his shit together. He’s never been as brilliant as Izzy or as glitteringly alluring as Jace, but he’s steady and thoughtful, smart enough to be near the top, if never at the shining pinnacle. What would it be like to be special?

What would it be like, Alec wonders, to be someone’s first choice?

His phone rings, and Alec answers it, weaving through the early morning crowd. No one pays him any attention, an uncommonly tall man in a nondescript suit, frowning down at his phone. “Hey, Jace. What do you need?”

“So,” Jace says as a faux-casual lead in that Alec doesn’t buy for one goddamn second, “in about six months, Izzy and Simon want to move in together once our lease is up.”

“Married people usually want to live together, yes.”

“I’m not trying to make it all about me—but what about me?”

“Good job not making it all about you,” Alec says dryly, dodging an obnoxiously expensive-looking stroller at the last possible moment. The woman pushing it shoots Alec a dirty look as she passes, but Alec doesn’t much care. If you’re spending that much on a stroller, it should come with turning signals or something.

“You have two bedrooms,” Jace points out.

“You can’t move in with me,” Alec says, feeling vaguely guilty. “Clary hates you.”

Apartment hunting in New York is a bitch. He should know, it’s how he ended up being roommates with someone he despised.

“Ah—that,” Jace says, hesitating, then, “you know, you and Clary only know each other because of me. You don’t even like her.”

Alec ignores the bitchy tone and shrugs even though Jace can’t see it. He would never ever tell Clary this, but: “Eh. She’s grown on me,” Alec admits.

“Yeah, she does that,” Jace says softly.

“Look,” Alec says with a sigh, “I’ll take a look at the boards and see if anyone’s going to be looking for a roommate soon. Don’t worry, man. We’ll find you something.”

“Thanks,” Jace says. “Still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms and hangs up.

He’s turning the corner when he sees a small battered shelf stuffed with vinyl records. On a whim, he steps closer and starts thumbing through them. He used to love records before he realized most people saw it as a hopeless affectation and swapped his stereo out for a new shiny setup. It’s fine, convenient, but nothing quite recreates the experience of opening an album and seeing the pictures, the art, reading the liner notes. He sees Duke Ellington and pulls it out, laughing. Impulsively, he snaps a picture and sends it to Magnus.

A few seconds later, his phone chirps with Magnus’ response – a laughing face.

Still grinning, he heads into the tiny shop, the musty smell of used books and old vinyls a welcome, familiar smell and hands the shopowner a few bills. He tucks the album und3r his arm and continues on his way to work. He imagines Magnus’ smile, his delighted eyes, the way his eyebrows arch just so when he’s quietly pleased. He shoves down the thread of uneasiness that tries to creep up. Daydreaming about your whatever, your “it’s complicated” incarnate, outside of prearranged dates seems like trouble.

But It’s just a silly little gift. It hardly matters.

When it comes to Magnus, Alec’s currently got much bigger problems to worry about.

\---

Alec is working on his budget proposal, the television playing faintly in the background, when he gets a text from Magnus. _Thinking about you._

Alec bites his lip, texts back,_ In a dirty way?_

His phone dings a secod later with three rapid-fire responses.

_ Well, no, but now I am. _

_ Thanks for that. _

_ I’m out having dinner with friends and very suddenly had to put my napkin in my lap. _

Alec laughs out loud. _What did you tell them?_

_ That someone I’m texting with is being very naughty. _

Alec's pulse speeds up._ You talk to your friends about me? _

_ Of course. I tell them about everything important in my life. _

Alec ignores the warm feeling blossoming in his chest at Magnus’ words. He’s probably just important to Magnus because he’s becoming such a large expense. Magnus will probably try to use him as an exemption on his taxes.

Alec chews on his bottom lip, thinking. An idea is forming and it is suitably terrible, but in the same way that Alec knows the Yankees are going to lose in the World Series, he already knows he’s going to do it.

With a quick glance around to make sure the windows are closed, the curtains drawn, he quickly strips off his shirt and pajama pants. he’s not quite brave enough to go completely bare, but he puts his hand down the front of his underwear, giving his cock a few pulls until it’s tenting the front of his boxers impressively. Then Alec angles his phone to get a picture of his stomach, his thighs, his hand down the front of his pants, stroking himself, along with the caption, thinking of you too.

This is exactly the type of shit he warns his students not to do. For all that the freshman are technically adults, they are still horny teenagers prone to staggering amounts of thoughtlessness and general dumb fuckery.

Alec doesn’t know what his excuse is.

A second later, Magnus texts back a single word response: _fuck._

Alec’s blushing and smiling stupidly down at his phone when the lock turns in the front door and Clary steps in. She takes in Alec sitting in his underwear, left hand down the front of his pants, surrounded by charts and graphs.

She tugs off her messenger bag and sets it down by the front door. “I’m not even going to ask,” she says, heading into the kitchen. Her boots click against the hardwood floor.

“That’s probably for the best,” Alec replies faintly.

\---

Alec isn’t a man built for subterfuge and the nervousness gnaws at the pit of his stomach. Over lunch, when Jace asks him if he’s met anyone interesting, and Alec blurts out, “I’ve become a hooker.”

To Jace’s eternal credit, he blinks, his sandwich paused halfway to his open mouth and he sits it back down. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to need more information. Do you need to borrow money?”

“No, I’m okay, really,” he says at Jace’s dubious look.

“Then why have you become a hooker?”

“Not really a hooker. Okay, so, I met a guy at a bar--”

“The stuff of legendary romances.”

“--will you please shut up and let me tell the story?” Alec says severely. “So I met this guy and we went back to my place and you know--” he slaps his hands together.

“You either had sex or played patty cake.”

“The first one,” Alec says. He’s not in the mood for Jace to be cute. “In the morning, he left money on my nightstand.”

“So, it was a misunderstanding? What's the big deal? You banged some guy and got a tip.” Alec is horrified that Jace’s response is exactly the same as Clary’s. He hesitantly adds, “I’m still sleeping with him.”

"And he’s still paying you for the sex?”

“Yes,” Alec groans. “Oh my god, this is such a mess. I could have told him the truth and I didn’t and now it’s a thing. A weird thing. I’ve let him pay me for too long to tell him the truth now. He’ll hate me.”

Jace nods thoughtfully and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Well, I guess it’s tax-free income.”

“You’re being weirdly positive.”

“What can I say, I’m trying something new.”

And honestly, it’s the truth. The past few months, something in Jace has shifted, settled. Alec doesn’t know if it’s his promotion at work, or age, or simply a change of perspective, but for as long as Alec’s known him, Jace has been defensive, his outward charm belying a deep insecurity, some private hurt collected in the time before Jace came to live with them. Not anymore, though. For the first time, Jace seems at peace, his restless energy dormant.

Alec’s happy for him, but in the end, it changes very little about their relationship. Jace is his brother, and Alec has loved him in every single one of his iterations.

Alec frowns down at his salad unhappily. “What should I do?”

“You like this guy?”

“Yeah.”

Jace makes an exasperated sound. “Stop taking his money, stupid. Come clean. Tell him the truth and what happens, happens.”

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

“What if he does?” Jace takes another bite of his sandwich. “Seems to me, that’s what you’re really afraid of.”

\---

By the time Friday rolls around, Alec’s so jittery that he can barely stand it. He’s going to come clean after a romantic evening of candlelight, wine, and the finest takeout the local Chinese restaurant has to offer.

He lights the candles with a shaky hand and nearly drops the match when he hears a knock on the front door.

“Be cool,” Alec mutters to himself. He’s going to tell Magnus the truth, and Magnus will laugh it off, and then they’ll eat all the dodgy gyoza nine dollars can buy. At least that’s what he hopes for. Reality is usually less kind and infinitely more complicated.

He opens the door and stands there, taking Magnus in. They’ve been texting all week, more often dirty than not, and Alec doesn’t know quite what to expect.

Magnus gives him a shaky smile, and Alec realizes he’s not the only one that’s a bit nervous. Magnus’ eyes drop to Alec’s lips and stay there, as if glued in place. Also, Alec thinks, horny. They are both horny.

Magnus hesitates for a split-second before grabbing him by the lapels and hauling him through the front door, lips against his.

Before Alec has a chance to catch his breath, Magnus is kissing it away again, his mouth hot and hungry. “It’s been an awful week,” Magnus says between open-mouthed kisses. “Thinking about you is the only thing that’s gotten me through it.”

Alec’s too busy pushing Magnus’ jacket off his shoulders and fumbling with the row of tiny buttons dotting his vest to answer.

“Fuck. _ Fuck _,” Alec grinds out, trying and failing to undo one of the tiny pearl buttons. While he normally has a great appreciation for Magnus’ sartorial choices, right now, they’re a pain in the ass.

“Just rip it off,” Magnus says and palms Alec through the rough denim of his jeans.

Alec grips Magnus’ vest and rips it apart, buttons flying everywhere. Then they’re tearing off the rest of their clothes, Magnus walking Alec backward through the apartment until his knees hit the back of his bed.

Alec, who has thought of very little else besides the thrill of Magnus’ hands on him once again, barely recognizes himself. He’s wild, kissing Magnus, biting at his bottom lip like he wants to eat Magnus alive.

It’s an apropos thought. The night he met Magnus, he was hungry for some unnameable thing. Starving for change, excitement, touch. Magnus provided all three.

Now, lying on the bed, Magnus is just as eager, hands shaking as he slicks himself up, condom in place. At the last minute, he tries to slow things down, teasing Alec with his fingers, but Alec’s not in the mood. “Do it, just--” Alec gasps, bucking his hips, feet planted against the mattress.

“Yeah, okay.” Magnus already sounds a little wrecked. Magnus kisses him one last time, lines himself up, and pushes in quickly with none of his usual grace. It’s too soon, Alec’s not relaxed enough, and it stings, makes him catch his breath at the intrusiveness. But it doesn’t matter. It’s exactly what Alec wants. 

He shoves himself back eagerly, matching Magnus’ pace, deepening the thrusts. It’s fast and sloppy – neither of them is going to last – but they’re in an all out sprint, racing towards the finish line. Alec’s flying high on endorphins and the heady feeling of Magnus filling him up and stretching him out.

All the events in his life are converging, getting blurry and mixed-up, coming to a head. He’s going to have to tell Magnus the truth, and Alec doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have this. So he wants to feel it in every fiber of his being, to wear the sore muscles and bruises like a talisman, maybe a lonely reminder later of what he used to have. He wants all of Magnus and he wants Magnus to have all of him.

The bed groans in protest; a bead of sweat works its way down Magnus’ face.

Alec keeps trying to say something, but the words come out distorted and all wrong. Because he has never known what to say to Magnus, has always fucked it up,_ I need you_ becomes_ harder_ and _You’re so important to me that it terrifies me_ becomes _yes yes yes_. _I adore you_ becomes Magnus’ name, drawn out on a low moan.

Alec wraps his legs around Magnus’ back, nearly bent in half, and Magnus hauls him up, arms hooked under his thighs as he yanks Alec up to meet him. 

“Open your eyes,” Magnus pants. “Look at me.”

Helplessly, Alec obeys. Magnus’ eyes are intense, pulling him in, and Alec feels bared, stripped down and exposed. Magnus knows that Alec’s unhappy in his career, even if he’s a bit misguided on what that career may be. He sees that Alec’s envious, jealous of others’ successes and hates himself a little for being so petty. He sees that he’s ambitious but afraid of success, afraid that with more responsibility, he’ll fuck it up publicly and spectacularly. He sees all these things that Alec dislikes about himself and accepts it.

“It’s me, no one else.”

“W-who else would it be?” Alec manages.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Magnus says raggedly. Weirdly, he sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. “It’s me making you feel this way. It’s me filling you up, no one else. Say it.”

“It’s you inside of me,” Alec says, chest tight. He feels like he can’t pull enough air into his lungs. His skin’s on fire, pleasure burning low in his belly. Magnus thrusts again, hitting that sweet spot inside of Alec, pushing him that much closer. “You’re the only one that can make me feel this way,” he manages. 

The edges of his vision are going blurry, the wet sounds of Magnus fucking him open obscene in his ears. “Please, please,” Alec begs without knowing what he’s asking for. He squeezes his legs around Magnus’ back, pulling him closer, deeper. 

Magnus reaches down and strokes Alec’s cock, and his orgasm almost catches him by surprise. He’s too busy watching Magnus, desperately trying to memorize the planes of him, the intensity of the moment, this suspended second when Magnus wants Alec above all else. 

His orgasm tears through him, leaving him feeling raw and shocky. Alec keeps his eyes open until the last minute when he physically can’t any longer. 

Magnus follows close behind. He presses in deep, grinding his sharp hipbones against Alec’s ass and buries his face in the damp crook of Alec’s neck. He takes his pleasure in Alec’s body and leaves his sweat, his touch, words that are half-formed and too soft.

Magnus holds him close and something inside Alec trembles, then shatters.

Alec can lie to Magnus, he can lie to his family and friends, but he can no longer lie to himself. He’s gone past the point of no return, he’s utterly lost.

\---

When Alec gets out of the bathroom, he finds Magnus shuffling through the stacks of books on his nightstand. He’s pulled on his dress pants but nothing else. He looks messy, undone, hair wild and eyeliner smudged. Alec thinks he looks sinfully good. “You have eclectic taste.”

“I don’t spend all my time, er--” Alec coughs “--hooking.”

“I never thought you did,” Magnus says mildly, setting the books down. “We are, all of us, more than one aspect of our lives, and you’re far more surprising than most.”

He has no idea.

“Oh, hey, I got you something,” Alec says, belatedly remembering the album. He leans down and pulls it out from beneath his bed and watches as Magnus pulls it out of the bag.

Magnus blinks down at the album, turning it over in his hands carefully.

The longer he studies it, the more embarrassed Alec gets. The corners are frayed. It’s not in great shape. It’s a stupid gift. Magnus could probably buy the whole record store if he really wanted to. “Never mind,” Alec says and reaches out to take it back. “It was dumb.”

Magnus holds the record close to his chest and finally looks up at Alec. His eyes are shining. “I love it.”

“Yeah?” Alec says, feeling himself grin. He tries to reign in his obvious pleasure with varying degrees of success. He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I was walking along and I saw it and thought of you.”

When put like that, his words are very, very damning.

Magnus sets the album on the dresser and crosses the room to kiss Alec. “Thank you.” When he pulls back, he winces and rubs his back.

“You okay?”

“Long day and a rather athletic greeting,” Magnus says ruefully. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, we have a bath you could soak in. You could even use some of Clary’s little fancy bottles she keeps next to the tub. It’s salt and oil and – it sounds like I’m making a salad, but I swear it smells good.”

Magnus grins up at him. “And do you often use Clary’s ‘little fancy bottles’?”

“Yeah,” Alec admits, “but I think she knows about it. She started buying sandalwood and bergamot instead of like, cupcake scented.”

“Well, I’d be delighted with a bath if you’ll join me.”

The tub is too small for two grown men, but somehow they manage. It’s an old-fashioned clawfoot that Clary just fell in love with and at least half of the reason they rented this dump. It certainly wasn’t for the water pressure.

Alec slips down behind Magnus, his legs needing slightly more room, as Magnus watches. He smirks at the ginger way Alec sits down, but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Magnus sighs and leans back against Alec’s chest, skimming his hands over the shimmering surface of the hot water.

“If you had all the money in the world, what would you do?”

“Whoa, deep question for a bubble bath.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you better.” H reaches up behind him, and rests his hand on Alec’s neck, right beneath his pulse point. “You have secrets and I respect your reasons for keeping them, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

“I’d--” Alec tries to be honest and give it some real thought. He remembers tutoring Izzy and Jace when they were younger, the sense of satisfaction he got watching them fly past their classmates. He’s a college professor because his mother and father both are, he supposes, but he’s a teacher because he’s good at it and it’s what he loves. Alec’s shocked. He’d ket himself forget in the rush for prestige, but if he had to do it all over again with infinite money and options, he’d choose to be a teacher, exactly what he is now. “Jesus,” Alec says, the breath exploding out of him all at once, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m okay with what I’m doing.”

“Yeah?” Magnus sounds surprised.

“Yeah,” Alec says without elaborating. The water’s starting to cool, the bubbles nearly dissolved now, leaving the water gray and cloudy like the sky before a summer rainstorm.

“Hm, same for me. After my breakup, I left the country for nearly an entire year. Camille made me question myself and my judgment and I didn’t feel like I had any qualifications to judge anyone else.”

“Why would you judge patients?”

“Patients?”

Alec can hear Magnus’ confusion in his voice and a shiver of danger races down his spine. “I thought you were a doctor?”

“I am,” Magnus says. “You’re the one who assumed medical doctor. I’m on the board that decides about the recipients of something called the Davidson Grant. I don’t suppose you’ll have heard of it? It’s rather obscure, limited to advanced academia.”

Alec’s entire body has gone cold and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. He clearly remembers sitting in Magnus’ bed and watching him carefully dressing while saying that he had to rush off because of a coworkers’ indiscretion. “Once or twice.”

“Oh?” Magnus makes a curious sound.

Alec watches while all his carefully laid plans for the evening plunge a thousand feet into the earth along with his heart. “Never mind. It was a lifetime ago.”

If by a lifetime, Alec means last week, then sure. He last heard about it when Izzy was sitting across from him, telling him that she’d been awarded it.

“It’s causing me some headaches this year because someone apparently told the recipients the good news before we’d made a final decision.”

“It's not a done deal?”

“Not quite,” Magnus says. “We’ve picked the finalists, sure, but we still have to do our due diligence in doing background checks, etcetera. It’s a prestigious grant and it shouldn’t be this way, but it matters. I’ve been told we can’t have recipients that’ll embarrass us. Nothing can tarnish the reputation of the precious Davidson Grant.”

He sounds tired and bitter. “Sorry,” Magnus says, “I didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“It’s fine,” Alec says, but he barely hears Magnus anyway. They’re doing due diligence to make sure Izzy won’t embarrass them. What would they say if someone on the board of directors was caught with the winner’s brother, who happened to be posing as a hooker? Not only would it look suspicious as hell and downright crazy to boot, but it would ruin Alec’s career, destroy Magnus’ reputation, and set Izzy back years in funding if her reputation could manage to recover from such a shocking scandal.

Alec’s mind becomes a staticky mantra of_ oh god, oh god, oh god_\--

“My fingers are getting pruney,” Magnus says, standing. “I think it’s time to get out.”

“You go on ahead,” Alec says mechanically. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

Magnus leans down and presses a kiss to Alec’s forehead. He wraps one of Alec’s ugly towels around his waist and heads out of the bathroom. “I’ll be reheating the food.” He winks at Alec. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, gorgeous.”

“I won’t,” Alec answers, listening to Magnus’ retreating footsteps.

And then it’s just Alec, sitting alone in the cooling bath water. _Oh god, oh god._ His life is about to go to shit in a big way and he needs one more moment of silence to brace himself against the approaching storm. He holds his breath and sinks beneath the placid surface.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec reads from the short story, "About Love" by Anton Chekhov

Clary is tapping her chipped purple fingernail against the counter. “Well, this is a pickle.”

After spilling his guts to Clary over coffee, Alec’s sitting at the counter while Clary happily munches breakfast cereal with little marshmallow stars floating in the milk.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Hey, watch it, buddy,” Clary says. “I’m not the big fat liar who pretended to be a prostitute.”

Alec hides his face behind his hands. “Fuck, I know. I’m the dipshit that did this. _ I’m such a fucking idiot _.”

Clary’s expression softens. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes and you’re not a bad guy.”

He drops his hands, leaning over and pressing his cheek against the cold Formica. His body feels so heavy, weighted down with all his failed expectations, all the lies he’s told, the way his parents always looked a little disappointed in him and how he can’t bear to see the same expression on Magnus’ face. “I feel terrible.”

“Well, yeah. Because you did a terrible thing. But good people sometimes do bad things and bad people sometimes do good things, and you’re _ still _ a good guy. These situations are never simple. Besides, I kind of see how it happened.”

“Do you really?”

“No,” Clary relents. “I’m not going to lie – this is really crazy, Alec.”

“I can fix this,” Alec says doggedly. “I know I can. I just need more _ time _.”

“How?”

“I have no damn clue,” Alec admits.

“Alec,” Clary says, “do you like him?”

“You know I do.”

“Then I think you have to tell him the truth.”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees miserably. He’s known that for a while, has even tried a few times, but it’s only becoming more apparent. He may care about Magnus, but he’s not being fair to him. He doesn’t know if there could ever be anything more between them, anything deeper, but he does know it can’t happen while their entire relationship is built on a shaky and poorly-concealed lie. They’re ignoring the rest of the world while a category 4 hurricane tears towards them, sitting in the eye of the storm and building a house of cards.

Alec finishes his coffee and rinses his mug out, then trudges to his room to get dressed. Another day has come. It’s not the end of the world, even if it feels like a slow countdown to the end of his.

\---

After class, Alec’s chopping vegetables. He’s been texting Magnus all day, just silly, mundane stuff back and forth, but it still makes his heart beat a little faster to hear his phone vibrate with Magnus’ response.

He’s currently trying to cook, to recreate the stir fry Magnus made for him. He used to be a pretty good cook, actually ended up cooking most of the family meals when his mom was too busy and his siblings were too young. But as everyone moved out and moved on, he fell out of the habit. Cooking for one was kind of depressing. Takeout and campus food was easier, then became habit, then became a way of life.

As it turns out, you can get used to almost anything given enough time. Even loneliness.

He couldn’t say what spurred him to attempt cooking tonight. He's trying to recreate a feeling, something that’s been lacking most of his adult life. Something – warm, safe. It’s been a long time since he’s felt either.

Next to him on the counter, his phone chirps again. He glances down and grins at the response. He meant to call Magnus as soon as he got off work, but he's -- he’s not avoiding Magnus, he’s just thinking.

He gets into a rhythm, the _thwack thwack thwack_ of the knife on the bamboo cutting board as he juliennes carrots. He’s so distracted that it takes him a full five seconds to notice when he’s sliced the skin of his index finger. “Shit,” Alec curses, watching the scarlet blood well up and pour down the sides of his finger in startling rivulets. The sting hits him a second later as he’s running his finger under the faucet. It’s not too deep, but it fucking hurts. He wraps a black kitchen towel around the shallow cut, applying pressure. Well, no one said change wasn’t painful.

His phone buzzes again, and Alec picks up, seeing Maia’s picture pop up. Alec answers.

“Hey,” Maia says. She sounds subdued.

“Hey,” Alec says, holding his phone carefully between his shoulder and ear. He lifts the towel and checks his finger. The bleeding is slowing down. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

Alec hops up onto the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. “I worry about everything,” he admits, “it’s not a big stretch.”

Maia laughs, but it sounds shaky and unhappy.

All the hair on Alec’s arms stands up at that sound. Maia hates being vulnerable. She’s the type that would lie and pretend everything’s fine until she dropped dead at your feet. “Hey,” Alec says softly, “talk to me.”

“I’m trying,” Maia says, “but I don’t know what to say. Alec, nothing’s right. I’m miserable and I don’t know why. I thought this was my chance, but nothing’s gone how I thought it would.”

_Nothing ever really does_, Alec thinks. He feels a sad carrot poke into his ass. He sighs and angrily pushes the food to the side. He can already tell it’s going to be a pale imitation, and if he keeps going, he’s going to lose a damn hand, so why even try?

Alec slides off the counter and exits the kitchen. He sits on the chair next to the window, peering outside, finger still wrapped tightly in a kitchen towel. It’s getting late in the season and it gets dark early anymore. He watches the city lights slowly flicker on like fireflies on a sweltering summer night. He remembers trapping them in a jar when he was a kid, watching them fade in and out with Izzy and Jace, and letting them free at the end of the night.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess I thought a needed a big change to be happy, but now I just feel unhappy and alone.” Maia sniffs and Alec’s entire chest aches. “I miss you, I miss all the places I used to go, my friends. I don’t understand things here and I don’t fit in at all. And I’ll be goddamned if I start drinking Kombucha. I’m a New Yorker and I drink _coffee_.”

“You could always come home,” Alec offers with a strained laugh. He can pass it off as a joke if Maia hates the idea.

“Don’t tempt me,” Maia says. “I want to, but--”

“But what?” Alec says. He unwraps the towel from his hand, examining the shallow cut. For all it bled and hurt, it’s barely a scratch, and not worth quitting his fledgling attempts at cooking over.

“I don’t want to be a failure. A washout.”

He knows the feeling well, but it's always been easier for him to be kind to other people than himself. “You’re only a failure if you let it define you.”

“I got accepted to one of the most prestigious fellowships in the country. And I couldn’t even make it a full semester. What else would you call it?”

He can imagine Maia in her apartment, alone and debating whether to call Alec and bug him with her problems or not. His fingers tighten on his phone.

“I don’t know,” Alec replies, “being human? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with trying out something new and realizing it’s not for you. The worst thing to do is_ know_ you’re making a mistake and keep going anyway. Come home.”

Jesus. Alec rubs his forehead. If only he had followed his own advice.

“Back home to my shitty family,” Maia says flatly.

Alec thinks of warm nights and a jar of fireflies, of being trapped in between Jace and Izzy, the family he was born with and the family he chose.

“No,” Alec says. “Back home to me. I’ll be your family now.”

\---

Later, lying in bed, he finally calls Magnus. He’s changed into his pajamas, but the flannel feels stifling, so he strips down to his sleep pants and gets into bed. His chest feels heavy, tight. He turns over on his back and lays a hand over his heart, feeling the pulse in his fingers. He’s made mistakes, too many to count, but he’s only human, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a horrifying and thrilling reminder of that fact.

The phone rings.

Alec doesn’t know what he wants. That Magnus will pick him over his job? That Izzy will lose her grant? He can’t hope for any of those things because it would make them unhappy. And no matter how much he craves happiness, he would never be content if it was earned on the backs of those he loves.

No, he doesn’t know what he hopes for, just that he hopes. But whatever happens, it should be Magnus’ choice.

“Alexander,” Magnus greets him warmly when he answers.

“Hey,” Alec says, “what are you doing? How’s your day been?”

“Busy,” Magnus answers, “but I’m glad you called. You always seem to make it better.”

“I’m glad,” Alec says sincerely. He’s never wanted to make Magnus’ life harder. But even if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then the vehicle to get you there is always deceit. “Anything I can do now?”

“Talk to me?”

“About what?”

“Anything. Everything. Tell me all of your secrets, and I’ll tell you all of mine.”

Alec feels a lump in his throat. He would like nothing more, but the secrets he has are too big, too awful to say over the phone. He’s no fool, he knows Magnus is falling in love with him, but Magnus doesn’t really know him and Alec has no one to blame for that fact but himself. “You wouldn’t like me if you knew all my secrets.”

“Why don’t you try me?”

“Okay,” Alec says softly. “You know, Anton Chekhov used to be one of my favorite writers. There was so much beautiful tragedy in his short stories. There’s this one passage that I must have read a thousand times.” He has a dusty, dog-eared copy of it on his bookshelf in the living room, but he doesn’t need it now to remember. Alec begins, “‘When our eyes met in the compartment our spiritual fortitude deserted us both; I took her in my arms, she pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears -- oh, how unhappy we were! -- I confessed my love for her, and with a burning pain in my heart I realized how unnecessary, how petty, and how deceptive all that had hindered us from loving was.’”

“That’s beautiful,” Magnus says.

Alec can hear the sounds of Magnus getting undressed and slipping into bed.

“That’s life,” Alec says simply. “But I did learn a lot from it.

“And what did you learn?”

Alec thinks while staring at the fan blades making their lazy rotation around the ceiling. “Little things matter, even if they seem trivial to another person, and sometimes those things keep us from what we want. Not every story has to have a happy ending to be complete or satisfying.” He closes his eyes and puts his hand back on his bare chest. “And I learned not to romanticize pain. The world already has enough of it. It’ll find me without me seeking it out.”

“And who’s been causing you pain?”

“Mostly myself,” Alec confesses.

“Why would you do such a terrible thing to such a lovely person?”

“I don’t know,” Alec says honestly. “I guess the world told me I was flawed one too many times and I believed them.”

“Excuse me,” Magnus says, and over the line, Alec hears a click. “Turning off the light,” Magnus explains. “This feels like a conversation for the dark. Alec, I hope you know I don’t share your opinion.”

Alec turns over on his side. Magnus sleeps on the right side, and if he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, Alec can almost feel the warm curve of his body against his own. “I wish--”

“And what do you wish for, Alexander?”

Maybe it's the immediate intimacy of his full name rolling off Magnus' tongue, the dark night full of secrets, or the deep ache of loneliness that Alec never realized he had until Magnus eased it away, crumples something in Alec. He lets out a shuddering breath and says, “Acceptance.”

“From other people?”

Alec knows the answer, but it would hurt him even worse to say it out loud. And that’s a truth he doesn’t want Magnus to know. Hell, he doesn’t even want to know it himself. It’s the real reason he never told Magnus the truth about himself. What if Magnus got to know the real him and decided he didn’t want Alec?

Alec clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Listen,” Alec says. “We need to talk.

“That sounds ominous.” A note of worry creeps into Magnus’ voice. “Is it good news or bad news?”

“I guess that’s up to you.” He should tell Magnus that he cares for him, while he still has the time. “Magnus, do you know what you mean to me?”

“Oh?”

“I--”

“You don’t have to say it.” His voice is kind, understanding, but he lets Alec off the hook too easily and that's part of what landed them in this mess.

Alec fists the sheets beneath him. They're well-worn, soft with years of use, and silent witness to more triumphs and failures than Alec cares to admit to. He's written essays stretched over them, made love, had one-night stands, graded papers, and now one more first. “I need to. I need you to know.” Alec takes a deep breath. “You’re so important to me. Magnus, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

He hears Magnus breathing over the phone, short and choppy, then, “You _asshole_. The first time you say that, it’s over the phone?”

Alec laughs shakily. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says. His voice sounds muffled, like he's covering his mouth. "Then you can say it to my face. And then I’ll do many varied and possibly illegal things to you.”

“I hope sexual.”

“Darling,” Magnus responds, “it’s always sexual.”

“I have something to do earlier, but we can meet after? About nine?”

“I’ll be there,” Magnus promises.

\---

The following day, on Alec's way out of class, Clary sidles up beside him like a tiny ginger ninja.

“Ah!” he yelps in a very masculine manner, throwing his briefcase in her general direction. Passerbys stare for a second, but it’s New York. Waving his dick around in public wouldn’t warrant a second glance.

Clary bends down and picks it up, dusting it off with her hand. She needn’t have bothered; it couldn’t possibly look worse, though Alec has been eyeing a leather crossbody bag that he thinks will serve his purposes even better and possibly look less old man chic.

“You ready for the faculty meeting?” she asks, walking with him down Greene St. It doesn't take them long to get to the despressing building. They just follow the sounds of on-going construction and beleaguered despair.

“After you,” he says, holding the door open.

The faculty meetings are always the same: professors of the respective colleges huddled together over stale bagels to try to wheedle their way out of budget cuts.

Alec already has his presentation ready, put it together a week ago. In previous years, he wouldn't have bothered; it never seems to make a difference anyway. But this time, the university can pry his dry erase markers from his cold, dead hands. He’s teaching freshman classes. Children are the future, blah blah.

The meeting is being held in one of the smaller classrooms, similar to the ones he teaches in. As he enters the already full room, the two-day-old bagels and stale stink of fear assault him. Alec surreptitiously holds his arm up over his nose and gets a whiff of something sweet and smokey. The incense Magnus had burning on his console table. He must have worn this suit the last time he saw Magnus.

“Alec,” Clary says, poking him.

“Hm?”

“Let’s find a seat before those animals from Economics get here.”

Alec follows her and manages to wedge himself behind one of the long tables and looks around. Some of the faces he recognizes from sharing office space or various faculty gatherings, but about half are new, a depressing testament to the state of academics these days. Too much of the staff is comprised of fly-by-night adjuncts, straddling the weird line between faculty and serfdom.

Across the room, a man is looking askance at him.

It takes a horrifying fifteen minutes for Alec to remember where he’s seen him before: he was the man in the picture next to Magnus’ bed.

Alec’s entire body goes numb and he makes an unflattering gurgling sound.

“Are you okay?” Clary asks, slapping his back.

Alec honestly doesn’t know. Possibly, he’s choking to death on sheer irony.

“Who is that," he manages, gesturing at the man.

Clary glances over and then looks back at Alec like he’s crazy. “Didn’t you read the newsletter?”

He meant to. In fact, Jace had passed his copy of the newsletter along to Alec and then Alec had started the semester, became a hooker, and then promptly forgot.

Clary rolls her eyes. “That’s Ragnor Fell, the new professor. He was there at the bar. You know, before the first day of school?”

A bunch of interconnected, deeply unpleasant realizations happen congruently as pieces start slotting together. The man with Magnus at the bar, the man who apparently told Magnus that Alec was a hooker in the first place. The new professor with the name Jace mocked. The newest member of faculty and Magnus’ best friend.

Alec grabs her arm, squeezing tightly. "Clary, I've fucked up."

“Again?” she asks. She sounds so tired.

“Oh my god, Clary, that’s Magnus’ friend. He thinks I’m a prostitute.”

“How many people think you’re a hooker?” Clary demands.

“Just two, I _swear_, and this one isn’t my fault.” Alec looks around, eyes landing on the exit longingly. “I have to get out of here.”

“What about your presentation?”

“Don’t worry about the presentation. I can make an appointment with the Dean later. Right now, I am not ready to have this conversation with Magnus’ friend.”

This is what he likes about Clary: She may be impulsive, cook like shit, and be a pint-sized food thief, but she’s loyal and decisive under pressure.

“Okay,” Clary says. “The meeting hasn’t started yet. We can run out and I can tell everyone tomorrow that you suddenly got sick.”

“Count of three?” Alec mutters under his breath.

“Yeah. On my count: one, two, three--”

\--but Alec’s already wheeling out of the room as fast as he can, Clary hot on his heels. Fuck the sharpies, he can buy his own next year.

\---

A few seconds later and Alec and Clary are furiously jogging down Greene St, Clary poking Alec in the side. “I thought we were going to go on the count of three?”

“Yeah, one-two-go,” Alec shouts back.

“That’s ridiculous, everyone knows it’s one-two-three-go.”

“I don’t have words for how wrong you are, Fray,” Alec snaps.

They’re busy bickering back and forth when someone calls out, “Ms. Fray!”

Alec’s head whips around in sheer horror. It’s Ragnor Fell, Magnus’ friend.

Alec hooks his arm around Clary’s and speeds up, half running, half dragging her down the sidewalk.

“We can’t keep this up,” Clary pants, “eventually, we’re either going to get home or run out New York and end up in Jersey. I don’t want to go to Jersey. No one wants to go there on purpose.”

She tightens her arm around Alec’s and plants her feet. Alec stumbles to a stop and nearly faceplants right there at the intersection.

Ragnor catches up to them, holding his side and breathing heavily. “Why were you running from me?” Ragnor wheezes.

“Oh, were you following us?” Clary says with wide eyes. Alec is deeply impressed with her ability to say utter bullshit with a straight face. “I didn’t see you.”

“I was calling your name,” Ragnor points out, then blinks, looking over at Alec. “Hey—I know you.”

Alec’s stomach gives an unpleasant lurch. “Ah,” he says. “About that. It’s kind of a funny story--”

“You’re–”

“My employee,” Clary interrupts, squeezing Alec’s arm meaningfully.

“Excuse me?” Alec says at the same time that Ragnor says, “Pardon?”

“I’m paying him to be with me.”

Ragnor rocks back on his heels, trying to digest this new nugget of information. Truth be told, Alec’s having a hard time digesting it as well; he feels like he might be sick all over the sidewalk.

“At a faculty meeting, Ms. Fray?”

“I have needs,” Clary says grandly. “How dare you question me, sir.” Her back stiffens, her shoulders squaring. “If that’s all, then good day.” Ragnor opens his mouth to speak, and Clary interjects, “I said good day, sir.”

Clary spins on her heel, taking a flabbergasted Alec with her, and they leave Ragnor on the sidewalk, looking deeply confused.

“What did you just do,” Alec whispers furiously.

“Outed myself as the worst member of faculty, ever,” Clary whispers furiously back. “And saved your ass.”

“Holy shit,” Alec says, “you’re right.” He stops at the mouth of an alley and steps into it, crouching down. His heart is racing, his hands shaking. “Give me a minute.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“No -yes – I don’t know.” Alec looks up at Clary, who’s crouched down over him. “Thanks for that, by the way. Really. I need to tell Magnus the truth before I start discussing it with random faculty members.”

“Please tell me it’s going to be soon,” Clary all but begs. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Tonight. No excuses,” Alec promises and stands up.

Clary’s fiddling with the strap of her bag and gazing up at him thoughtfully. “I know you spend a lot of time thinking and worrying about other people, but you should let them help you out, too.”

Alec’s suddenly acutely embarrassed. “I don’t do much for you, do I?”

“Friendship isn’t a zero-sum game,” Clary says. “I’m not keeping score.”

“You’re a better friend than I deserve,” Alec tells her.

She grins happily. “Yeah, I know. Look, I’ve got plans tonight, but if you need someone--”

“No, go be with your mystery date.” He’s not really irritated anymore that Clary won’t tell him who she’s seeing. He used to think it meant that she didn’t trust him, but now he realizes people have all kinds of reasons for doing the weird things they do, and most of the reasons have far more to do with the person keeping the secret than anyone else.

He knocks his shoulder into hers companionably. “You know you can trust me, Fray, right?”

She bumps him back. She's so short that it hits him mid-chest, but he appreciates the gesture anyway. “I know that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She digs around her purse and pulls out her phone, waving it at him. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” Alec says as they step back onto the sidewalk and go their separate ways.

\---

Randomly, he ducks into a small shop and picks up flowers, the most expensive ones he can find. Whenever his parents fought, his dad always eventually turned up with a large bouquet of flowers and a bunch of promises he didn’t intend to keep.

Alec thinks Magnus is not a rose guy. Something more exciting, exotic. He sees some vases in the back, filled with chrysanthemums, snapdragons, and lush lilies and automatically picks it up. Yeah, orange and blue and yellow, the colors of a sunset at the end of the day.

It’s a stupid gift but it keeps his hands busy. He’s so nervous that his palms are sweating, and he nearly drops them multiples times. Alec readjusts his grip, noticing the small placard nestled inside. It says, “Welcome, baby boy!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles to himself, wresting it out and tossing it into the nearest trashcan. He supposes that explains why the bouquet is stuffed into a cheerful blue elephant.

When he turns the corner onto his street, he breathes a sigh of relief when his building comes into sight. As he draws closer, he sees a figure sitting on the stoop, dressed all in black. Alec looks around uneasily. Just his luck to get robbed in front of his own damn apartment, but something about the slope of the shoulders looks familiar. The figure sits up straighter and the hood falls back, illuminated by a single streetlight.

Alec’s heart skips a beat.

Izzy once told him that the reason you shiver when you see something unfathomably beautiful is because awe is a combination of fear and joy. Alec feels that now looking at Magnus – this beautiful man who makes him feel unbelievably happy and safe – and the earthshattering fear that Magnus could crush his heart, absolutely ruin him forever. But that’s the risk you take when you hand over your heart to anyone, and that’s why love is so powerful and even more dangerous.

“Hey,” Alec says, but Magnus doesn’t look up. Alec makes a move to sit down next to him but then realizes Magnus is on his phone. Alec shivers, a thrill racing up his spine. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, a dull thud that marks the passing seconds.

“What’s going on?” Alec tries again, and Magnus ends the call, his phone dangling precariously from trembling fingers.

_One heartbeat_ –

Magnus looks up.

_Two heartbeats_ –

“I just got off the phone with my best friend,” Magnus says, his words uncharacteristically hesitant, stuttered and unsure. “His name is Ragnor. He said he saw you at your meeting earlier and asked around about you.”

_ Three heartbeats – _

“I--” Alec says.

Magnus' eyes are heavy-lidded, swollen. His bottom lip trembles as he rubs a thumb across it and takes a shuddering breath. “Anything you’d like to tell me, Professor Lightwood?”

The vase of flowers tumbles out of Alec’s hands and shatters against the concrete sidewalk.


	7. Chapter 7

Once, when he was a dopey kid, Alec was convinced he had ESP. He used to get this cold, tingling feeling that something bad was going to happen. His parents getting divorced. A minor school embarrassment that would haunt him all his days.

This is another one of those times, and Alec shivers.

“Magnus,” Alec says, eyes wide.

“Were you ever a prostitute?”

Alec could justify it. He did, in fact, have sex for money, but that’s not what Magnus is asking. He’s asking for the truth, and Alec, current events notwithstanding, is generally a truthful person. His father built his life on lies and Alec saw the price his family paid for his deceit.

Still, he lied to the person he loved. Maybe, in the end, he wasn’t so different from his father after all.

“No,” Alec answers.

Magnus nods slowly, like it was the answer he expected all along. “I knew you were hiding something, but I didn’t think it was this big.”

“I’m sorry,” Alec says. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Magnus is sitting on the steps, hands in his lap, fingers restlessly moving on the fabric of his pants, bunching and unbunching the material like he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. “Why?”

All of Alec’s reasons sound terrible: he was bored with his life and pretending to be a hooker was exciting for him. Then he fell in love with Magnus and was afraid to lose him. They’re all selfish reasons, and Alec isn’t a selfish person.

He doesn’t have any justification other than, “It was a misunderstanding that got out of hand.”

When spoken out loud, it sounds_ so _lame.

“How could I have not known?” Magnus says. His lips are white, pressed tightly together. Alec has kissed those lips, made them smile, made them open with laughter and pleasure, but he’s never seen them like this. “I knew what you sounded like when you moaned my name, but not your last name.” Magnus shakes his head disbelievingly. “Who does that to themselves? Who settles for a relationship like that?”

Alec’s stomach churns and he swallows down the bile rising in his throat. “Magnus--”

Magnus stands up, looking around like he can’t imagine how he came to be here. At Alec’s side, he pauses and reaches out helplessly, hand cupping Alec’s cheek. Alec presses against that fleeting warmth, memorizing the feel of it, the feel of Magnus’ body so close to his.

Alec doesn’t mean to speak, but the words slip out before he can stop them, “Please don’t hate me.”

If he lives for a thousand years, Alec will never forget the look of tired resignation on Magnus’ face.

Magnus says, “I could never hate you. I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at myself.”

“Why?

“What’s wrong with me that I keep choosing people that make me feel this way? That makes me keep doubting myself? Once is a mistake. Twice is-- I don’t know. There’s one common denominator in this equation.”

“Magnus, no,” Alec says desperately. He’s close enough that he can smell Magnus, feel the whisper-soft brush of his eyelashes against his cheek. He’s close enough to kiss, and Alec longs to close those tortured few inches between them. “Please, please, please,” Alec repeats, words soft and hurting, desperate and ragged.

Magnus shakes his head and pulls back. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he really does look it, mouth pulled into a frown, dark eyes wounded. “I need to think – and I can’t think around you. I can_ never t _hink clearly around you. Please don’t call or text. I’m not – I just need some time.”

“Magnus, wait--” Alec tries, but Magnus is already walking away, broken glass crunching under his footsteps as he disappears around the corner.

And then Alec is alone, standing under a streetlight, crushed flowers scattered at his feet.

\---

Alec’s sitting on the couch and staring at the wall when he hears the sound of the front door open and close. Clary kicks off his shoes and pads over to him. “Hey, I guess I don’t need to ask how things went. I saw the flowers on the sidewalk.”

“Nope,” Alec says.

“Did he—throw them at you?” Clary asks hesitantly.

“No, that was the worst thing. He wasn’t mad at me. He blamed himself for picking up another person that lied to him.”

Clary makes a pained face. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “He’s going to tell the board first and then after Izzy loses her scholarship and he loses his job, either Magnus or the board will have to notify the university of the reason why and then I’ll be blacklisted.

“Alec--” Clary says.

“I’m going to sleep. I’m exhausted and my head’s killing me.” He rubs his temples, trying to massage away the bright, stabbing pain.

Alec slouches into his room, tossing on some ratty old clothes and sinks gratefully into his soft bed. He tosses and turns, but sleep is a long time coming.

\---

“I called into work for you. Said you were deathly ill and needed to take some vacation time. You’ve never used it and you have a lot, Alec. So don’t worry about that.”

That’s because usually, when something’s bothering him, Alec just buries his nose in work, assuming that if he keeps moving, the grief will never catch up. But not this time. Work reminds him of Magnus and Izzy all of his various other fuckups. He’s never been ashamed to be a teacher before, but he is now. Ashamed of how he denied it, ashamed of the inevitable fallout from his disastrous lies. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a gutting, nerve-wracking thing.

What would happen if another morning came and Alec did not slurp down Clary’s awful, gut-stripping coffee, did not race to his classroom to teach a class full of bored freshman literature that he thought was actively terrible?

So he just—stops.

He’s lost everything, and the weight of the grief that he’s put off feeling for the past decade comes crashing down on him.

When he opens his eyes, the sun’s going down and Clary’s knocking on the door. “Alec?” She pokes her head in. “I made some pasta. I don’t think it’s too bad? I mean, it’s bad but it’s probably better than nothing.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alec mutters, his voice already raspy with disuse. He rolls over away from the door.

“Alec--”

“Leave me alone,” Alec snaps. He immediately feels like crap for being shitty to the one person who’s had his back this entire time, but he’s too exhausted to apologize. His eyelids feel like they’re made of bricks.

“All right," Clary says softly.

Alec turns over and sits up to tell her he’s sorry and asks her not to go, but the door’s already closing softly behind her.

The story of his life, he guesses. He’s always just a little too late.

\---

Alec tosses and turns throughout the night, watches the sun slowly rise and move across the sky by the slivers of light shining in between his blinds, an elongated ladder creeping across his floor, marking the time like a slow-moving pendulum.

At some point, he gets up and uses the bathroom, splashes some cold water on his face and stumbles into the kitchen and drinks a glass of water. He’s not doing great, intellectually knows he cannot continue this way, but he can’t bring himself to care. He shivers in his boxers and thin t-shirt and ends up back in bed less than five minutes later.

The room is dark when there’s a knock on his door. From the doorway, Clary sighs. “Please tell me you moved from the bed at least once today.”

He doesn’t want to lie anymore, so he stays quiet.

Clary crosses the room and touches his arm. “Alec, I’m really worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Alec mutters. His eyelashes feel gummy and thick, stuck together. “I just need more sleep.”

Sometimes during the day, he heard his phone ping with incoming texts but a cursory glance showed him they were just from Izzy and Jace. Eventually, he turned his phone off. What could he say? How could he face them?

“I made some soup.” Bafflingly, Clary leans down and sniffs it. “It came from a can, so it should be okay.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alec says. His stomach gives a loud rumble, belying this fact. Oh, Jesus, he can’t even get away with lying about his _ hunger _. The world is against him.

“Alec!” Clary yells, stomping her foot. “I’m not leaving until you at least eat half of this soup.”

She hands Alec the mug and he’s a little ashamed at how shaky his hand is. It’s in a thick, hand-made mug that Clary made her first year of art school when she was learning how to shape the clay. the silver spoon clinking against the sides.

Clary sits on the edge of his bed, watching him anxiously.

It’s hot and way too salty, makes the edges of his lips feel puckered. Aw shit, she doesn’t know what soup concentrate means. Clary’s watching him anxiously, though, so he manages a weak smile as he drinks some of the broth. “Delicious,” he says, forcing himself to swallow.

Even the act of swallowing is wearing him out. His limbs feel heavy, weighed down, and he gives up halfway through. The food sits like a leaden weight in his stomach and he hands the mug back. “Thank you,” he tells her, hating the anxious line between her eyebrows. Apparently, even his soup consumption is a cause of worry for his friends. “Clary, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Well, now I know you’re not okay,” she says. “You always call me ‘Fray’ in this exasperated, bitchy tone and that’s how I know you’re _ you _.”

“Fray,” Alec says, giving in and burrowing again beneath the covers, “just let me sleep. Thanks for the soup.

“Alec, I don’t know how to help you,” Clary says, sounding helpless and afraid.

“Sometimes you can’t fix a situation for someone,” Alec says, thinking of Magnus walking away from him. It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that someone you love is in pain, even worse if you’re the cause of the pain. “Some things, people just have to work out for themselves.” Alec pulls the blanket over his head. “Turn the light off when you leave.”

He hears her sigh and feels the mattress shift as she gets up.

Then he’s alone again, just the way he prefers it. Or at least, that’s what Alec tells himself.

\---

Nights melt into days, sunsets morphing into sunrises. At some point, Clary tries to physically make him sit up, threatens to call his mother, but none of it really touches him. He feels like there’s a solid wall of glass between him and the rest of the world and he might never find his way back. There’s some comfort in that, really.

Alec buries his head beneath his blankets and sleeps.

\---

“ALEXANDER GIDEON LIGHTWOOD! YOU GET YOUR _ASS_ OUT OF BED RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” a voice booms.

Alec’s eyes fly open. “Agh,” he moans piteously as his warm blanket is unceremoniously pulled off of him.

He feels the bed dip behind him, then a sharp pointy boot in his ass a second before it gives him a hard shove, and he hits the floor with a dull thud.

“Aghhhh," Alec says again. “I think you broke my nose.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll knock some damn sense into your fool head.”

He recognizes that voice. For the first time in weeks, Alec feels himself grin as he looks up, still holding his nose. “Maia?”

She’s crouched down in front of him and she reaches out a hand and runs it affectionately through his unwashed, greasy hair. “Alec, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

\---

After stumbling out of the shower, Alec towels himself dry in front of the mirror. There are shadows under his eyes, his skin looks sallow and dull. He’s been unkind to himself this past week and it shows. The last time he was in this room, he was holding Magnus in his arms. That pain feels very far away now, dulled and unimportant.

He pulls on some sweatpants and an old t-shirt and finger combs his hair quickly before leaving the bathroom to shiver in the kitchen. He looks around, baffled. It’s the same old kitchen, and it looks familiar in the same way that a place you’ve been a decade ago might look familiar, but Alec is all different. It feels _wrong _somehow that his surroundings don’t reflect that.

“Nice to see you up,” Clary says, opening a cabinet and taking out three mugs. She fills up the kettle and puts it on to boil and sets out a box of mixed teabags. “We have oolong, green tea, and some crap with apples”

“Give me the apple crap,” Alec says tiredly. He’s slept for the better part of a week but he still feels exhausted.

“You want some toast with your tea?” Maia asks, barging in and not waiting on an answer. She’s spent so much time at their apartment, it must feel like it’s at least ceremonially hers. She pops two pieces of bread in the toaster.

She looks tanned and lean, her hair a little longer than the last time he saw her. If he didn’t know her so well, he’d say California's agreed with her. Her jacket is thrown across a chair, a thick knee-length wool and Alec blinks, peering out the window, shocked that the trees are completely bare. While he had stopped, the world had kept going.

The toaster dings. Maia butters the pieces of toast after putting them onto a ceramic plate that Clary made a couple of years ago. The set of plates and bowls look a lot nicer than the misshapen matching mugs, but then again, the mugs had been her practice while she was learning and they’re both too sentimental to throw them out.

Alec’s partial to the lopsided mug with the thick handle and chunky _ A _ on the side.

Maia slides the plate across the counter, and Alec takes one reluctant bite, then another. The toast is crispy, the thick slathered butter rich as it melts against his tongue.

Once he starts eating, it feels like he can’t stop. His stomach feels crampy with emptiness, and Alec’s hands shake as he grabs the other piece of toast.

“Slow down,” Maia says soothingly. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“That’d be the least stupid thing I’ve done this week,” Alec answers.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” Alec says glumly, swallowing the last bite a little regretfully. She’s right, but the urge to gorge himself is strong. But that would just be solving one problem by creating another one, and he’s done enough of that for right now.

“Well, if you’re done, we can take our tea into the living room instead of standing in the kitchen like a bunch of weirdoes,” Clary says.

\---

They settle in the living room as Clary heads to her room to get dressed.

“She’s seeing someone and she won’t tell me who,” Alec says with great suspicion. He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it tightly around him. He can’t seem to get warm anymore.

“She’s a grown woman, she doesn’t owe you any explanations,” Maia explains with probably more patience than he deserves. “I know you guys have this weird love/hate relationship, but people grow up, they move on. Not everything that inadvertently hurts you is personal. Not everything is about you.”

And god, doesn’t he know it. He’d put himself and his feelings first with Magnus, telling himself he deserved to be selfish for once since he’d spent his life putting everyone first. But maybe if he’d taken care of himself in the first place, he wouldn’t have ended up making a series of decisions that led to him not showering for an entire week.

“I can’t believe I’m such a failure,” Maia says.

“I’ve been selling my body for money,” Alec says.

Maia looks over at him. “Okay, you win.” She tugs on the edge of Alec's blanket and burrows under the corner. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Alec says He’s not ready to share his general dumbassery with her. One day, but not today. Today, he feels a little too numb, achy, scraped raw.

The blanket, however, is another matter, and he scoots over, so she can nestle beneath the blanket too.

“Okay,” she says, and this is why they’re best friends – she knows when Alec needs a kick in the ass and when he’s too busy kicking himself. “Does this new vocation have anything to do with why you’ve been avoiding your old one?”

“Who told you?”

“Clary,” Maia says, sounding fondly exasperated. “Why do you think I jumped on a plane and ended up here the next day?”

“You just really like transcontinental flights and the tepid bottled water served aboard?” Alec says feebly.

“Idiot,” Maia says, laughing softly. “I was already planning to come back but I had to move up my plans.”

Alec flinches as he realizes two things: Maia did not finish the semester, so she won’t be getting credit for it, on top of the academic stink from leaving a prestigious and highly visible fellowship, and that she did the first part, at least, for Alec.

“Maia,” Alec groans. “Oh my god, I’m _ sorry. _”

Maia holds up a hand. “Alec, stop. I came because I wanted to because Clary called and she was worried about you. She didn’t tell me any more than the minimum, but if you're doing to blame yourself for me being here, then don’t. I won’t be another thing you beat yourself up over.”

“Shit, okay,” Alec grumbles. “But I will if you will.”

“Will what?”

“Stop calling yourself a failure.”

Maia swallows. “Everyone I know is getting married, getting promotions, moving on, and here I am, stagnant. Right where I began.”

“Those are just things, they don’t define you,” Alec says. “You’re one of the most brilliant, kind people I know.”

The corner of Maia’s mouth turns up. “Now you're getting it. And you? You’re not even thirty and a junior professor. You’re teaching kids and doing what you love. Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how lucky you are?”

Ah, shit. Now he sees what she’s doing.

“Alec, I’ve made my peace with where I am in life now. Not everyone can be a Nobel prize winner. Not everyone is meant to be. Sometimes, the most extraordinary life you can lead is one that gives you satisfaction.”

“I’m trying,” Alc says miserably. Intellectually, he knows she’s right, but it’s still a hard lesson to put into practice, letting go of this idea that he has to ascend to great heights to live a meaningful life.

“What are you afraid of, Alec?” Maia presses. “Failure?”

“I don’t know.” His heartbeat speeds up; his skin feels too tight. He’s lying to himself, and he can’t seem to stop.

“Bullshit. Sure, you do.”

Every verbal jab is like a direct hit and Alec’s already bruised body and soul can’t take it. The deep well of feeling, the ugliness, the insecurity that he can barely stand to face himself – let alone let another person see – bubbles up and over like a cooking pot under pressure, the lid finally blowing off.

“I’m afraid of _myself_,” he chokes out. “I’m afraid I’ll let everyone down.” Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. The words are _pouring_ out now that he’s ripped the scab off the festering wound that he’s carried for years. “I want it all. I want to be the department head, I want to be tenured, I want a family, I want to be in love.”

“So, you won’t let yourself admit to wanting anything in case you can’t get it? Or do you not let yourself have anything because you’re afraid to lose it?”

“If everyone else can find love, if everyone else can get promotions and I can’t, then what does that say about me?” Alec’s eyes are stinging and he impatiently scrubs a hand across them. “It means I wasn’t good enough. It means the problem is _me _. There’s no use dreaming about what you can’t have.”

“Oh, Alec,” Maia says, sounding soft and sad. She leans her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad I came back.”

“You didn’t have to,” Alec tells her.

“No, I didn’t,” Maia agrees, “but you’d do the same for me. It’s what you do for family.”

What Alec wouldn’t give for Izzy’s belief in her right to success or Jace’s easy affability. Instead, he’s as afraid of success as much as he craves it. What if he lets everyone down?

Growing up, he was always told that failure is not an option.

They were right. It is, in fact, _not _an option. It’s inevitable. You will make mistakes, you will hurt people, despite your best intentions.

But sometimes it’s healing to admit defeat. There is great freedom in allowing yourself to be human, above all else. And Alec is human, in all the best and worst of ways. And when he does mess up, when life hands him more than he can handle, it’s invaluable to have someone to lean on, to say, _It’s okay, come home, I love you anyway._

\---

Before he goes to bed, he has to eat a full bowl of soup and drink three glasses of orange juice to satisfy Maia, even though Alec complains that he’s going to be up and peeing all night. He offers his bed to Maia, who calmly reminds him that he slept, unshowered, in it for more than a week. Yeah, okay. The pullout couch works too. He grabs Maia some spare blankets, shivering in the cool night air. He’s partial to winter, the way time seems to slow, and the way snow muffles sound and keeps people indoors. He’d always thought of it as a solitary season, but that’s only because he was spending it alone. He thinks of huddling together with Maia for warmth on the couch all evening. The cold can bring people closer if you let it. But it requires honesty, and openness, and a willingness to be hurt.

He holds the blankets in a white-knuckled fist. For all that he loved Magnus, he never let him in. He’s never really let anyone in. Alec thinks he can do it now.

He takes the blankets to Maia, who’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, dressed in an oversized shirt, hair pulled up high on her head.

He hands her the blankets, forcing his hands open, and it isn’t until he releases the fists he was making that he realized how much they ached. How much effort he was expending. Something unknots in his chest and he breathes deep. Impulsively, he leans over and kisses Maia on the cheek, murmuring, “Goodnight.”

She looks up at him in surprise with an unexpectedly shy smile. It’s a good look on her. “Goodnight, Alec.”

Later, Alec’s sitting on his bed. He has to respect Magnus’ wish for no contact between them, but that doesn’t mean Alec doesn’t have anything to say. He grabs a notebook off his desk and a pen and sits down to begin.

And he writes. He tells Magnus why he lied. He tells Magnus about his childhood, the early expectations that ruined him, the way he held onto the criticisms and internalized them while forgetting the praise. He tells Magnus that he was numb when they met and how Magnus reminded him of what it felt like to be alive, and that he’s grateful to have had Magnus, even for a short while, even if Magnus can never forgive him. It’s a terrible letter – full of scribbles and circular thoughts and just plain ridiculous at points. He’s not putting his best foot forward, is letting it metaphorically all hang out, but at least he’s finally being honest.

When he goes back to bed, he silently vows to wash he sheets asap and to write Magnus a letter each day. That night, he sleeps better than he has in months – maybe years.

\---

On Tuesday, he finally drags his sorry ass back to work. He dresses in his best suit, hoping to look dignified at least when he gets fired for impersonating a hooker. If he’s going down in flames, he might as well be dressed snazzy.

He ends up running a few minutes late and has to dash through the living room to grab his briefcase and comes to a skidding stop at the door, where Clary hands him a mug of coffee. He’s holding the lumpy A mug, which must be Clary’s version of _ good luck _.

He takes a scalding sip and it’s predictably awful, but he’s never been so glad that some things never change.

Once Alec gets to work, everyone that inquires about his health or wishes him well makes him feel like even more of a fraud. His shoulders involuntarily hunch under the weight of his guilt as he shuffles towards his cramped office. He doesn’t like spending time here, and it smells suspiciously of curdled cheese, but all faculty are required to keep office hours and it’s a convenient place to keep his books, in-between classes. Alec breathes a sigh of relief when he closes his office door behind him. All morning, he’s been waiting to get fired, possibly arrested in front of his friends and coworkers, undoubtedly of which some previously assumed that someone of his preposterous height simply _ had _ to be up to no good.

He’s growing increasingly confused and nervous as his morning marches uneventfully on, and police and the FBI and CIA fail to materialize and arrest him for being a shitty liar. What is Magnus _waiting for _?

Alec scoops up the books he’ll need for his first class and grabs his keys.

Jace catches up with him just as Alec’s locking up his office. He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder. He spins around, expecting to see suits and uniform expressions of somber disgust.

Instead, he sees Jace peering at him curiously through floppy blond hair. “You don’t call, you don’t write.”

“I’ve been--”

Jace waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I heard all bout it. You feeling better, man? Clary said you had some stomach thing.”

Alec sags against the heavy wooden door with relief. It’s not that he’s necessarily averse to telling Jace, he’s just not sure that he has the strength right now. He might be back on his feet and attempting to trudge through the day, but he still feels fragile, bruised inside and out like an overripe peach. Not for the first time, Alec has the fleeting thought that Clary is a much, much better friend than he deserves.

Jace leans closer. “Said you were really going from both ends.”

Well, she’s not that good of a friend, Alec revises, irritated.

“No details, please, just glad to know you’re okay.” Jace turns to leave, waving over his shoulder. “And call Izzy. She’s been texting you all week and she’s worried sick. The only reason she didn’t barge over and nurse you back to health is because Clary told her not to.”

And then Alec’s holding his mug in one hand, his briefcase in the other, blowing gently across the hot surface of his coffee and trying not to spill any of it on himself.

Of course, he manages to dribble a small amount down the front of his tie.

Alec sighs, expecting the predictable flash of frustration, but it never comes. Instead, he finds himself fighting back a grin. _Of course, this happens to him. Of fucking course it does. _

On a whim, he opens his office door just enough to toss his briefcase onto his desk and locks it back behind him. He doesn’t feel like teaching from the textbook today, so he won’t.

He manages to get to class on time, but he’s still the last to arrive. He loves and hates how punctual freshmen are, how eager to learn.

What he has to teach them isn’t particularly interesting or challenging. It will help them pass remedial classes and have superficial, unsatisfying polite conversations for the rest of their lives, but nothing practical, and he hates to be the one to swap out the joy of learning for the hum-drudgery of this fraudulent imitation of adulthood.

Alec takes a sip of his coffee, gone tepid now, when he notices a small chip in the handle. He pulls the mug back, studying its misshapen silhouette. Clary hadn’t known what she knows now. She’s gotten better with practice and experience, and he wonders for the first time if the university's model of teaching – which he fervently sticks to – is doing a disservice to his students.

He was convinced that he could never succeed without following the rules, but he supposes it depends on what he wants to succeed at. It depends on what he ultimately finds the most important. Just like that, he sees the fork in the road. His life could go this way or that way.

Magnus once asked him if he could do anything at all, then what would he do, and Alec was surprised to find that he would teach. So why in the hell isn’t he_ teaching _?

Everything takes practice. He teaches adults how to learn, but his classes are set up just like high school and four years later, his students are out in the real world without knowing how to to do sweet fuck all other than regurgitate their professors’ own opinions back at them.

He needs to teach critical thinking. He needs to teach choice, and freedom, and how to be responsible with both. After all, you only get better with practice.

A timid blonde student finally gathers the courage to speak up. “Professor Lightwood, aren’t you going to take attendance?”

“No,” Alec says, setting his mug down. “You’re adults. Time to start acting like it. Whether you come to class is your choice. If you can complete the assignments without being here, then you don’t need to come. If you fail because you didn’t show up to class, then I suppose its a lesson that’s better learned here in English 101 than at your first professional job.”

The class laughs uneasily, and Alec loosens his tie and perches on the edge of his desk, studying the sea of expectant faces. The older he gets, the younger his students seem to him. He _ wants _ to help them. It’s an honor to do it.

“What page, Professor Lightwood?”

He’s in the intersection, the crux of all things, where naked ambition meets seasoned wisdom, where love meets duty. And for the first time, he sees a way to have it all. He may not succeed, but he doesn’t stand a chance unless he tries.

He can’t fix all his other mistakes, but he can fix this one.

Alec takes a deep breath. “Put your books down,” Alec says. “If you could study any book, any genre, what would you pick?”

It takes a while; the students are hesitant to speak up at first. They’re too used to being guided, to thinking that there’s only one correct answer to every question. But as they start talking, throwing out titles, their voices gain confidence, and Alec leans back and soaks it all in, occasionally throwing his own opinion out and making mental notes of the more interesting suggestions.

Things don’t always have to have a perfect or easy resolution. Indeed, life offers very few of those. Sometimes all you can do is _try _and then whatever happens, keep going.


	8. Chapter 8

Maia’s sitting next to him on the couch and they’re arguing about which movie to watch when there’s a knock on the door. They were planning to go out, but at the last minute, they decided to stay in and bitch at each other in private. It’s their own specific brand of Netflix and chill, which is more like Netflix and beta-blockers.

“I am _not_ watching another dopey romantic comedy,” Maia complains loudly.

"There’s nothing wrong with romantic comedies,” Alec maintains mulishly. “Not every night has to be war and zombie apocalypses. What’s the plural of apocalypse? I can’t believe I even have to ask that, I hate you.”

Maia laughs and shoves him playfully. “Answer the damn door. I can’t keep arguing on an empty stomach.”

There’s another impatient knock on the door.

“Coming, _Jesus_,” Alec calls out, heaving himself up from the couch and grabbing his wallet from the coffee table. Their delivery is super early. They usually spend twenty minutes trying to find their address and then another thirty attempting to deliver it to every apartment but the correct one.

Just as Alec reaches the door, Clary comes running out from her room, looking wild-eyed. “I got it!” she screeches, darting in front of Alec.

“But I have to pay,” Alec says, bewildered.

“I’ll pay, my treat!”

“But you’re not even eating,” Alec points out patiently as if talking to a very dull child. “When I asked if you wanted to split some food with us, you said you were going out.”

“I changed my mind. I want to eat with you guys and watch Maia’s horrible zombie movies.”

“Hey,” Maia says lazily from the couch.

Alec shakes his head. “Oh, too late for that, Fray. You didn’t order any and I don’t share my samosas with anybody.”

“Lightwood!” Clary yells, stomping her foot. “You get away from that door right now!”

“Move,” Alec orders, “you’re short and tiny and acting weird.” Alec reaches around her and unlatches the deadbolt. The door swings open, and then he’s staring at Jace, who looks aa surprised as Alec feels.

“Did we have plans?” Alec asks Jace, whose face is rapidly turning as red as Clary’s hair.

“I thought you were going out tonight?” Jace says, looking horrified. He’s wearing all black with his distressed leather jacket, hair carefully gelled back. It’s his date outfit, the one that Jace has told Alec repeatedly always gets him laid, generally in vivid and excruciating detail until Alec begs him to stop.

“Obviously not,” Alec replies, a dark suspicion forming. Clary has been weird for months. Jace is _always _weird. “What are you doing here?”

“Came over to see you,” Jace says, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over his lip. He’s a shitty liar because he never had to learn how to be a good one. Everyone – possibly Alec included – let him get away with far too much.

Behind him, Clary makes a hopeless, high-pitched sound.

“Wait, you came over here to see me when you thought I wasn’t going to be home,” Alec says flatly.

“Oh my god,” Clary groans. "I need some air.” She pushes past Alec and Jace, darting out to the hallway and leaving them staring after her retreating back.

“Should I go after her?” Jace asks. “Is this one of those emotional tests that I always seem to fail?”

“The fact that you have to ask means you’ve already failed it.” Alec rolls his eyes and shoves past Jace, grabbing his thick wool coat off the hook. “But Clary's not like that,” Alec says. He shoves his wallet at Jace. “I’ll go after her; you stay here and pay for our food. I know how much is in the wallet.”

He pulls his jacket on and at the last minute, turns around. “And leave Maia alone. She’s not interested in you.”

Jace makes an insulted sound. “You really think I would do that?”

Alec considers Jace carefully. “No,” he says finally with a shrug. “No, but old habits are hard to break.” Doesn't mean he shouldn't try, though.

\---

Alec shuts the door behind, thinking. It’s cold out and Clary didn’t grab q jacket. Still, she’s stubborn enough that she just might have gone outside anyway.

It doesn’t take him long.

He finds Clary on the roof, leaning against the railing. It's windy so high up and cold. Alec takes his coat off and wraps it around Clary's shoulders. “Hey,” he says.

“Alec, I knew you wouldn’t approve. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t not_ not _approve,” Alec says awkwardly.

Clary shakes her head. “Jace has changed. He’s not like he used to be.”

Alec comes up beside her and leans against the rail too. The city is dark, the night coming early anymore, but the thing he likes about New York is that it never truly gets dark, and you’re never really alone. It just feels that way sometimes. “I know that, but you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Clary sniffs, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Her nose is red, but Alec doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “Maybe. I don't know what the hell I’m doing. Breaking up the first time really broke my heart. It took us both years to get over it. What the hell are we doing now?”

“That’s all I’m worried about, Fray. I don’t want to see you have to go through that again. Either you or Jace.”

“I know,” Clary says. “And I’m_ terrified, _believe me. But this time it feels right in a way that it never did before. And Alec, I know this going against every fiber of your being, but you can’t keep people from pain. It’s a risk you take when you love someone else and it’s a part of life. You can’t shelter us from everything, and why would you want to? It’s how we learn and grow. It’s how we _ live _.”

It’s a sobering lesson that he’s just now beginning to learn. He’d thought following the rules, his own self-imposed careful guideline for his life would get him everything he was afraid to admit that he wanted, but it was keeping him prisoner. It kept him safe from heartache, but it also kept away the joy, the thrill of not knowing exactly how the day would end, the week, the year. 

It kept him from love, and it was slowly killing him, snuffing out everything pleasurable about being alive.

Alec would never want the same for anyone else that he cared about.

“Okay,” Alec says, nodding his head thoughtfully. The city, spread out beneath them, twinkles and shines. It’s beautiful but Alec doesn’t know if he’s ever appreciated it enough before. The cold air up here so crisp and cool that it makes something in his chest ache, nearly a physical thing that reminds him of days he’d tried desperately to forget. He didn’t have a hard childhood, not in the way that many have had, but in the way that his parents were human and little unkindnesses, the small criticisms, cut him deeper than they ever should have. He doesn’t know why the unkind comments stayed with him longer than all the praise he’s ever received for being smart and dedicated and accomplished, but he supposes that’s just the way his mind works. And when it comes down to it, his harshest critic has only been himself. 

He’s beginning to suspect he needs to shut the fuck up.

“_Okay_?” Clary says, disbelieving. "I’ve been worried sick for all these months for _ okay _?”

Alec shrugs. “What can I tell you, Fray? I guess this means I’m growing.”

“What if Jace and I break up? What if he breaks my heart again?”

“Then it happens and I’ll be there for you both. I’ll go drinking with Jace and pretend not to see him cry. I'll eat ice cream with you and we can talk about how all men are total fucking trash. Whatever you need.”

Clary peers up intently at Alec, her face slowly breaking into a smile. She has one of those smiles that seem to illuminate her whole being. While he’s mentally scoffed that she’s not a hardened city dweller, maybe he’s done her a disservice. Maybe there’s nothing smart about being tough or jaded at all, and cynicism only comes from being disappointed and hurt one too many times. It’s a distinct possibility that being an asshole just means you’re an asshole and nothing more. 

“You really _have _changed.”

His circle of intimates is shockingly, laughably small, limited to Maia and people in his immediate family, and not even always them. He’s aware that he has trust issues, both with other people and himself, and he’s working on them, _damnit_. But he thinks it’s a good sign that against all reason, Clary seems to have joined those pitiful ranks. In fact, he might love her as much as Izzy, as much as Jace. Maybe even as much as Maia, who he loves in a different way because he _chose _her and she _chose_ him.

No one sounds more shocked than Alec when he says, “Fray, I _trust _you.”

Clary wrinkles her nose. “And no I-told -you-so’s? No, I've-already-done-this-for-you's?”

“Someone once told me that friendship isn't a zero-sum game," Alec gently reminds her. "I'm not taking score. My friendship doesn't have an expiration date."

"What if Jace and I get married?"

God help them all, but Alec replies, "Then I’ll be your reluctant bridesmaid."

“What if Jace and I want a hipster wedding in a barn with mason jars and vegan fried chicken?”

Alec’s left eye twitches. “Why would you – never mind. If that's what you want, then I will pick wildflowers and make droopy bows from organic hemp fabric in a vast array of uninspired colors all named after elements.”

“What if I want a Las Vegas wedding at the Cannabis Chapel? Would you still attend my _weed-ing _?”

“Fray,” Alec growls, irritated.

Clary throws her head back and cackles

“There's the Alec I know and love.” She pulls the jacket tighter around her. “It’s freezing. Aren’t you cold?”

Without noticing, they’ve slid quietly into winter. Sometimes the biggest changes are ones that you don’t quite notice while they're happening.

“I'm honestly freezing my balls off,” Alec says quickly, hopping in place a little to try to warm himself up, “but we were having a _moment_. I’m going to become a eunuch because you couldn’t keep it in your pants."

Clary laughs again. “Then let's go inside. Jace is probably worried sick. He’ll pretend like he wasn’t, probably say something sleazy. But he’ll be secretly relieved that we’re both still speaking to him. Probably gonna cry into his satin pillow tonight about it.”

Alec slings an arm around her shoulders as they make their way inside. “Jace doesn’t care whether I’m talking to him or not.”

Clary reaches up and gives his hand a squeeze as the warm corridor air envelopes them both, “Of course he does. Your opinion means so much to him. Izzy, too. Why do you think he’s always showing off, or that they’re always rushing to tell you all about their accomplishments? They want you to be proud of them, you _ dolt _.”

His hands are pins and needles as the feeling slowly leeches back in. The warmth envelopes him like an embrace, like an adrenaline rush, and his head spins with the sudden heat and even more sudden change in perspective. 

So, he had misread the situation pretty much his whole life. He had projected his own insecurities onto other people who had never judged him or felt sorry for him at all. It was only ever him judging himself and finding himself to be sorely lacking. 

Alec sucks in a sharp breath, feeling the warmth rush into his lungs, warming him from the inside out. He enjoys the heat, the comfortable feel of Clary close, and knowing that Maia and Jace are waiting for him at home. 

“Hey, go on without me,” Alec says, stopping in the middle of the hall. “I’ll be there soon.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Alec assures her. “I just need a minute.”

Clary nods and begins down the hall alone. Alec listens to the sound of her footsteps fade, then disappear completely, and then he leans against the wall, head tilted back and staring at the flickering light fixture above him. 

His mind is a pleasant blank. He doesn’t try to plan for a nebulous and unknowable future; he doesn’t berate himself and think about everything that’s wrong with the world. For the moment, he just exists, just how he is, totally fine, and _breathes and breathes and breathes._

\---

Later that night, Alec sits down and starts his letter to Magnus. He tells him about Clary and Jace and how he felt like a total dope because they have the cunning of a flea between the two of them.

He tells him about how he used to worry about Izzy and Clary and Jace, but that they’re slowly but surely finding their footing. They don’t need him anymore, if they ever really did. And that maybe Alec was so focused on their lives so he didn’t have to focus on his own.

_Magnus, I don’t know what you’re doing or how you’re feeling. But I’m doing okay. I think you blame yourself for too much and I want you to know that I miss you, but I’m going to be fine. Even if you never speak to me again, I hope you find peace too. I love you. I miss you._

_ –Alec._

He folds the letter and puts it in an envelope addressed tp Magnus. Then he slides the envelope into his drawer, on the very top of the stack he’s already collected, right next to a thick envelope full of cash. He’s never going to send the letters, just like he can’t bring himself to spend the money because to do so would mean he’s truly given up. And that’s not in Alec’s nature. Magnus will never know what they say, but it feels good to be honest with Magnus anyway.

About an hour ago, Clary and Jace, finally out in the open, proudly retired to her room, holding hands and looking giddy and so in love.

Alec can’t help but wonder in a sad sort of way if he’ll ever have that with anybody.

Still, it’s nice seeing his friends and family happy for a moment, even if he’s not sure how long it’ll last. It never does, but he supposes that’s why you should cherish those quiet moments even more.

Alec changes his clothes getting into a sweatshirt and soft, pilled sweatpants with a stretched out waistband, and he keeps having to hitch them. up higher on his hips. He slips into bed, thinking about what he’s going to do for class in the morning. Maybe a round-robin discussion of female writers in the 21st century. His mental list is interrupted by a rhymic thumping against the wall.

It puzzles him for a moment. It’s an old building, prone to odd groans and thumps, but this sounds too regular to be—

“_Oh my god_,” Alec yells and smacks the wall above his headboard. He’s super happy for them but that goodwill doesn’t extend to listening to them fuck.

That settles it. He’s going to have to find a new place to live.

\---

Alec’s hunched over his desk, feverishly poring over his revised rubric. If it were completely up to him, he would burn all the overpriced anthologies the university insists on using, but his students have already paid for them, and he’s not going to do them the insult of not even using them. But he can make slightly better choices than before while still operating somewhat okay in his current confines. 

He guesses that’s all adulthood really is, really.

“Hey, you big loser,” Clary says, standing at the doorway. She’s still wearing her apron thingy that she wears to protect her clothes while she paints. Clary once smugly told him that it was a _ pinafore _, while Alec privately called it her Little House on the Prairie cosplay apron.

“What did I do now?” Alec asks, looking around. He’s wearing a slim-cut charcoal gray suit. He justified the expense t himself by telling himself that he’ll need it for interviews after he gets fired from his current job. Or entering an innocent plea in front of a jury of his stone-faced peers, whichever comes first.

“Everyone's so jealous and wants to know how you did it.”

“I have done many things lately, a good three-quarters of them terrible ideas.” Alec sets his dreaded red pen down, massaging his temples. He’s got a headache pressing right behind his eyeballs, along with the hideous suspicion that he might need reading glasses. Ah, the thirties. Will the indignities never stop? “You’re going to have to be more specific, Fray.”

“Your budget wasn’t cut. It was even expanded.” 

Alec leans back in his chair. “_How? _”

Clary crosses her arms, grinning. “Everyone thinks you either did black magic or granted sexual favors.”

“That’s right,” Alec says dryly, “I blew my way right to the middle of a modest budgetary bump.”

“Or maybe the Dean liked your proposal.”

“How did he even get it?” Alec asks, mystified. He had Luke for years, even sometimes suspected his mother might have an unsavory and frankly embarrassing relationship with him, but the man still terrifies him.

“Well, when you screamed and ran out of the budget meeting, you apparently forgot to take your proposal with you.”

“Hey,” Alec protests, “I didn’t _scream _\--”

“You screamed like a prepubescent girl at a 1D concert and then ran away like a fucking coward.”

“You may have a point,” Alec agrees mulishly. 

“Anyway, apparently he read your proposal and liked it. You must have made some good points.”

“I did?” Alec coughs. “I mean, of course, I did.”

“Alec,” Clary says, amused. “It’s okay to be proud of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. He doesn’t really believe it yet, but he’s getting there. “See you at home?”

Clary hesitates. “I’m staying with Jace. We’re going out with Simon and Iz for dinner, then I’m staying over with him.”

“Okay,” Alec says, pushing down the slight swell of disappointment. Maia has a work thing tonight, schmoozing and trying to land a fellowship nearby. Everything's always changing, shifting and resettling in a brand new way, as it should. And even though it no longer makes him feel afraid or intentionally left behind, it does leave him feeling wistful sometimes. Occasionally, it seems like he’s spent his whole life waiting: To be acknowledged, to be seen, to be loved. 

“Have fun, Clary,” Alec says sincerely.

“You’ve got to stop doing that. I’ve told you how creepy it is when you use my first name,” Clary complains, waving goodbye.

Laughing, Alec picks up his pen and get back to grading. It’s going to be a long night.

\---

When he gets home, back aching from being hunched over a desk for hours, Maia’s already home, dressed in a gold silk robe. She's sitting on the couch, idly flipping through channels. When she sees him, she mutes the TV. 

“How did it go?” Alec asks, setting his backpack down and loosening his tie.

“Great,” she says happily. “And tomorrow, I’m doing a walk-through of two potential apartments. I hear one constantly smells like curry, which _yum_. On the downside, it constantly smells like curry.”

“You don’t have to be in a hurry or anything. We don’t mind having you here.”

“You might be surprised to learn this, but my life’s ambition is not living on someone’s sofa.”

Grinning, Alec holds up his hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. Good luck on your apartment hunting. You’re going to need it." He sighs tiredly and shuffles to his room and closes the door behind him.

He shucks off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his desk chair, being careful not to wrinkle it. He’ll hang the suit up when he gets out of the shower later. But right now, he needs to be in something comfortable and eat all the greasy takeout he can order for himself without feeling embarrassed that the delivery person is judging him. That’s when he notices the top drawer of his dresser standing slightly ajar.

“Maia!” he yells as Maia pokes her head in, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t find anything in there, did you?”

“Oh, the letters? I mailed them.”

Alec’s heart stops for a full minute. “You _didn’t_.”

Maia shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I was looking for a sweatshirt earlier because I was cold, and I found the letters. I read one before I realized what it was, and then I put them back. Clary told me a little bit about what happened with Magnus, but she doesn't know about the letters, does she?"

Alec sighs. “He asked me not to call or text. Look, I've already betrayed him once, all the while telling myself it was okay because of a technicality. I'm not going to do it again.” Alec sits down on the end of the bed heavily. “We’re sticking to the spirit of the law rather than the letter."

“Oh, Alec,” Maia says with a gusty sigh, “you know how I feel about idiomatic antitheses.”

“Yeah, yeah, with a hatred you usually reserve for close-up selfies and unbuttered popcorn.”

"Well, yes, but, Alec," Maia says, sitting down next to him, “do you really think he’d want to make a decision without having all the facts? Would you?”

“Yes, I love living in denial,” Alec says, even though he knows it isn’t true. Living in the real world, however momentarily shitty, is far preferable to living a beautiful lie. He should know; he’s lived both recently. “Okay, fine,_ no_,” he relents.

“If you’re trying to be honest with him now because you haven’t been in the past, then don’t you think he deserves to know the full truth?”

“I told him the truth, and he couldn’t get away fast enough. I think he knocked over an old lady trying to run away from me.” Alec runs a hand through his hair. “He wouldn’t like me if he really knew me.”

“Seriously?” Maia asks.

Alec shakes his head sadly. “Not about the old lady, no.”

“There’s more than one type of truth. He only has the facts about what happened. Now, he needs to know the truth of_ you_.”

It's a confusing distinction, but he thinks he knows what Maia's talking about. “And what truth is that? I barely know what or who I am.”

Maia leans closer, her dark eyes kind and solemn. “That you’re an idiot. That you’re a self-sacrificing, flawed, insecure, incredibly intelligent, kind, great guy.”

“Boy, that is a real compliment _full_ of knuckles,” Alec remarks.

“And that, whatever else he might have thought, he always knew those things about you.” She leans closer to whisper in his ear, “And that he loved you for it, anyway.”

\---

The next morning, the sun is shining, glistening over the sheen of sparkling white snow that covers everything. 

Alec sits down and writes his last letter to Magnus. Whichever way this goes for him, Alec needs to close this chapter of his life. 

_Magnus-_

_Today is the first snow. I haven’t heard from you for weeks and I’m trying to give you the space you asked for, but the world looks like a blank slate today and I think this is the new beginning that I’ve been waiting for. I hope you’re a part of this new beginning, but if not, I understand._

_Whatever happens, whatever you take away from knowing me, I hope you can know this with unshakable certainty: I saw you. I saw your yearning to be loved that people probably made you think was neediness. I saw your vanity, your generosity, your self-loathing, your hurt, your insecurity. All those things that you were afraid to show me, I saw them. And I loved you for them anyway._

_– Alec_

Alec gets dressed slowly and trudges to the post office. He could leave them in the pile of outgoing mail to be picked up later, but this feels too important. He pulls on a pair of loose jeans, a plain teeshirt., and the same battered boots he wore the first time he met Magnus. 

He quietly makes his way through the apartment, grabbing some stamps on his exit, careful not to wake Maia, sleeping on the couch.

Once in the hall, he puts stamps on all his letters, hands steady. Alec can’t believe he’s doing this, but he can’t let things end with Magnus without Magnus knowing the reasons Alec lied to him, without making one last Hail Mary pass. It might not amount to anything, but that’s okay. The point is that Alec’s_ trying._

Outside, the cold air hits him like a punch to the gut, but it feels sharp and cleansing. 

He circles the block, snow crunching under his boots. His favorite flower, the snowdrop, will be in bloom soon. There's something so hopeful about a tiny, fragile bloom that pushes its way up through the ice. They signify hope, the survival of harsh elements, and a passing of difficult times. 

For once, the city is mostly quiet, early on a snowed-in weekend, and Alec looks up at the sky, so blue and clear. The last time he was so awed by beauty, he was watching Magnus sitting on a darkened street, illuminated by a streetlight. Alec hopes he eventually has better memories to replace that one. 

He hopes.

And then he’s standing in front of the post office drop box. Alec takes a deep breath and drops the whole stack of letters into the mailbox.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short epilogue to follow.

Alec’s working on a presentation for the college next month about student-led curriculum general education requirements. After all, the students are paying for their education, shouldn’t they get more of a say in what it entails?

Before he knows it, it’s Wednesday, and time for his weekly meet up with his siblings over terrible Chinese food. To say that Alec is nervous is to say that the meat is a little gristly or that Clary is a tad impulsive or that Simon gives off a whiff of a nerd, especially while he's waging elf wars and working on his mind-bogglingly detailed D&D backstory. (“Nothing was the same after the second Elven war,” Simon had said sadly, hunched over his spiralbound notebook. “Listen, I don’t care,” Alec had grunted back, taking a sip of his orange juice.)

At the restaurant, Alec arrives first and slides into a booth, orders waters for everyone and pan-fried dumplings as an appetizer. He’s pretty sure they’re bought frozen from the grocery store, so they’re usually safe. No one orders the seafood dumplings; that’s a rookie mistake.

He sits at the table, nervously drumming his fingers until the bell above the door dings. Alec looks up to see Izzy scanning the restaurant. She looks tired from working long hours on her thesis but radiant, nevertheless. Love will do that to you; he wonders if he looked the same while he was falling for Magnus.

“Hey,” Alec says, waving his arm at her to catch her attention.

She grins when she sees him, carefully weaving around the tables until she arrives at the booth. The waitress comes up to their table and deposits a steaming plate of crispy dumplings along with an inky black "special" sauce. It's soy sauce, it's just soy sauce. Izzy waits until the waitress is out of earshot and worriedly asks, “You didn’t order the seafood ones, did you?”

“No. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Izzy looks like she has an answer but wisely doesn't say. "Jace just texted to say he's going to be late.”

Alec snorts. "Of course."

Izzy grabs a dumpling, digging in. Her red nail polish is slightly chipped on the ring finger, her only visible concession to being bone-shatteringly exhausted. If you didn’t look too closely, she looks effortlessly chic, terribly put together. But like everything, it’s an illusion. No one really has their shit together; some people are just better at hiding it than others. By the time she’s finished chewing, Alec’s fingers are tapping against the table so hard that they can probably feel the tremors in the factory in Jersey where the dumplings are made.

Izzy delicately wipes her hands, peering at him curiously. “All right. What’s wrong? You seem antsy.”

“Nothing,” Alec says without thinking. Then again, if he’s silently vowed to live a more honest life, he's not off to a great start. Izzy is grown up, she doesn’t need to be protected, and lying to someone to protect them is a stupid reason to lie, anyway.

“I have something to tell you.” Alec stirs the straw in his drink, ice cubes clinking together.

“Jace said you were going to say that. He also said that I needed to thank you.”

“_Thank me_?”

“He said that you were willing to give up a relationship for me?” Izzy leans forward. “I hope you know that I would never ask you to do that.”

“Not exactly,” Alec says. “It was for you, and it was also for him. But mostly, it was for me. I realized that could live my life one way, or I could live it how I am now. And I chose this.”

Izzy cocks her head curiously. “Are you happy?”

It’s a complicated question, though it probably shouldn’t be.

He eats some of his suspiciously sour-tasting food to buy himself some time to think. His chest squeezes tight every time he thinks about Magnus. Alec works long, thankless hours for students who will not remember his name next year. But even without Magnus, even with the host of regrets he carries with him like the backpack he now uses to carry his students’ essays, he thinks he needed those steps to get here, to this place of grace and acceptance. He knows who he is now, and he’s mostly okay with it.

“Yeah," Alec says, surprising himself. “Yeah, I think I am.”

The egg foo yung is still awful, though. He grimly shovels some more in his mouth. He paid for it, therefore he eats it. Cause and effect for the stupidly determined. But earlier, it was a startling revelation to realize that he could just quit doing the things that made him unhappy, though he hadn't actually bothered to apply his new philosophy to his personal life.

He can just stop hurting himself. It's that easy and that hard.

Ale lays down his fork, feeling euphoric and more than a little dim.

“Now you get it,” Izzy says, watching him closely. She and Jace never eat their entrees. They just show up here for Alec.

The door dings again, and Jace comes bustling in, arms full of books. “I will be _so glad _ to be done with this bullshit.” His gaze ping-pongs from Izzy to Alec. “Did I interrupt something?”

\---

Alec haltingly tells Izzy the long, winding story of how he came to be banging the guy who would help shape her future in academia. 

By the time he’s done, Izzy’s laughing so hard that she nearly snorts rice through her nose. 

Then Jace does impersonations of Alec’s panicked rambling over increasingly thick wads of cash.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Alec grumbles.

“Did he pretty woman you?” Izzy manages through wheezing laughs. “Did you go to a boutique afterward and show them what a big mistake they made?”

Their laughter trickles off, and Izzy, eyes bright and mouth curled into a grin, says, “Oh come on, you know we’re only joking. I love you, Alec, but I can’t think of a job less suited for you.”

Alec cracks a grudging smile. “Maybe stripper,” he says absently, picking at his crab rangoon. “That’s probably one job right there.”

“Tell me he didn’t--”

“He asked me to do a striptease.”

Jace’s voice shakes as he asks, “And how did it go?” 

“I fell off the bed,” Alec reluctantly admits. 

Jace and Izzy laugh harder. It’s a little insulting about how funny they find this. Jace is slapping the table, nearly crying. Izzy is wiping tears out of her eyes, mascara smeared down her cheeks. Other patrons are staring at them like they might call the cops at any minute.

Alec sinks down in his chair. Shit, okay, he probably deserves this. 

\---

After the lecture, he’s turning off the projector, standing in a pool of light, the rest of the classroom shrouded in darkness and filled with the sounds of his class collecting their things and filing out. They no longer stampede out of the room the way they used to, which feels gratifying but Alec thinks it has as much to do with his lack of attendance policy than anything else. Everyone that comes to class wants to be here anymore. The door closes as the final student shuffles out, and Alec turns away to gather his slides.

He’s startled by someone clearing their throat loudly.

“Sorry,” Alec says, turning around. “I thought I was alone.” He shades his eyes, but he can’t see who it is.

“Never alone,” a painfully familiar voice says.

His heart leaps up into his throat. He swallows painfully and leans back against the desk, his hands tucked into his pockets. “No?

“No.” There’s the sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor, careful footsteps. Alec’s heart_ thunders, _and he has to close his eyes, remind himself to _breathe. _“I got your letters.”

Alec licks his lips, eyes fluttering open. He peers into the darkness around him, but he can’t see Magnus, not yet. “Yeah?”

There are very few moments that could change the whole trajectory of your life, but this feels like one of them to Alec.

Magnus makes a small sound. “I – they meant a lot to me. Thank you for sending them.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth.” He doesn’t know whether he means now or then – both, maybe.

“I know that now,” Magnus says. “And I even understand how it happened, how it could have spiraled out of control so quickly."

Finally, Magnus steps into the light. He’s dressed casually like the last time Alec saw him, and for a moment, Alec has the crazy thought that Magnus is stuck in the moment they were last together, reliving that moment of betrayal over and over again. Alec certainly has been, but he can't anymore. For his own wellbeing, he has to forgive himself and move on. He deserves to be able to move on. Alec has changed both outward and inward, and he only hopes Magnus can see it.

“I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how to say it.”

Alec’s stomach drops down to his feet. It’s the feeling right before the elevator descends, the pinnacle of a rollercoaster right before taking the inescapable plunge. “Just say it,” Alec whispers miserably. He presses his lips together; they feel wet, taste salty.

“Part of the reason I needed time to think was that when I heard your name, I _ remembered _ you.”

Alec blinks. He hears the words, but he can’t extract any real meaning. “What are you saying?”

“Alexander,” Magnus says. He’s as beautiful as Alec remembers, eyes rimmed dark, but they’re so, so sad, and that doesn’t make any sense. “I'm the one that rejected your application for the Davidson Grant.”

Alec remembers the rejection letter. He’d been disappointed and embarrassed at the time, but let it go a long time ago. But something about knowing that it was _Magnus that rejected him _brings that sting back to the forefront. He's twenty-two again and trying to figure out how to tell his parents that he failed to get the grant that both of them received. It's knowing how disappointed his parents are in him, it's knowing that his sister succeeded where he had failed.

“Why?” Alec staggers back a few steps and falls into one of the empty desk chairs. He’s not sure what to do with this information. “Wasn’t I good enough?”

“Yes,” Magnus says, but he’s fidgeting, running his hands across the buttons on his shirt and then smoothing it down again. It’s such an uncharacteristic gesture that it sets Alec’s teeth on edge. “But there were better that year.”

And the hits keep coming.

“Here’s the thing,” Magnus says a little desperately, “you didn’t _need_ the grant. A white man in academia with a good family name? I knew your parents. Even then, they were respected. Isabelle is a woman in STEM. She needed the grant in a way you never did. I knew you would be _ fine_.”

Though the rejection had hurt at the time, wasn’t Magnus right? Alec had done okay for himself. And he can read between the lines; he knows what’s hurting Magnus so much to say: Izzy stood out more. She was just more qualified. 

It happens, and it’s no one’s fault. They both did the best they could. Sometimes life just goes that way.

“You made the right choice,” Alec says finally.

“Thank you,” Magnus breathes. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me. Not about that. _ Never _ about that.”

“You were honest with me, so let me return the favor. I know you have ambitions,” Magnus begins gently, “and I’ve asked around about you. Everyone knows that you're going to be department head eventually, but you need more experience. Alec, the older you grow, the more entrenched in your roles you get. Now is the time for you to make mistakes and try new things."

Alec grimaces.“I think I’ve made enough mistakes for one lifetime.”

“Not even close.” Magnus shakes his head. “If this is the worst you’ve got for me, you’re doing okay. Making mistakes is just part of living.”

Hadn't Clary said the same thing to him?

“You’re still so young yet – don’t wish your life away.”

Alec rubs the back of his neck tiredly. “I’m trying not to, but it’s hard not to feel like better days are just around the corner. Once I get this next proposal done, once I finish the semester.” He thinks of flirting with Magnus in a bar, Magnus holding him so tight and close in the shower, and how spectacularly it all fell apart. “But I think that you don’t always recognize the good days until they’re over.” Alec says ruefully, “I wish I’d done so many things differently.”

Magnus smiles, but it’s a melancholy thing. "Don't we all?" He steps closer. “It’s not all your fault, you know,” Magnus says. “If I didn't know the truth, it was because I didn’t _ want _to know.” 

“What do you mean?”

Magnus’ cheeks go a lovely shade of pink. “Oh my _god_, Alec, your _striptease _.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad,” Alec protests, trying hard not to think about it.

Magnus laughs nervously. “You bounced off the aide of the bed like it was an over tight drum. You told me your whole family was into prostitution. You were never busy or had other clients.”

Alec’s cheeks are _flaming._

“You regularly referred to your job as ‘the hooking’”

“Okay, I get it,” Alec says loudly. “I was a lousy prostitute.” He takes a deep breath. “So, what are we going to do now?”

“I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss. I'm unemployed,” Magnus says lightly, but the set of his mouth is tense, unhappy.

“Magnus,” Alec says, feeling sick to his stomach, “I’m so sorry. Maybe I could talk to them--”

“No, no, Alec,” Magnus is quick to say, “I_ resigned _from my position on the board. It’s not your fault. I was unhappy for a long time.” He steps close to Alec. “In a way, you did me a favor by forcing me to make a decision.”

“So, it’s a good thing I lied to you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Magnus’ eyes take him in, raking over him and he says, almost conversationally, “You know, I didn't know if it would feel the same, this thing between the two of us.”

“And does it?”

When he answers, his voice is low, husky. “Oh, yes. It’s better.” He grabs Alec’s tie, winding it around his fist. “This professor thing is really doing it for me. Do you think I can get some private tutoring, sir?"

“Well," Alec replies, feeling mischievous. “I may have the finest closet ever turned unto a tiny office this university has ever seen.”

“If I don’t find a job soon, I might be living in it.”

Alec coughs. “I may have some cash just sitting around if you need it.”

“Yeah?” Magnus replies, eyes sparkling. “And how did you get his money?"

“By working many long, hard hours.”

Alec can feel Magnus' breath ghosting across his lips. Magnus is close enough to kiss, and Alec gets a faint whiff of his cologne. It still makes Alec’s pulse rance. He can’t imagine a day when this simple fact will change. Some people, Alec thinks, are inevitable.

“Sounds difficult.”

Alec shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad. I got to lay down on my back for most of it.”

Magnus moves closer, but Alec doesn't close his eyes. He wants to savor every moment of this.

“Seems like your benefactor was really generous with you.”

Alec goes serious. “He was, but things got complicated in the end.”

“They tend to do that.”

“I fell in love with my client. And I made so many mistakes.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“I did. But he asked for space and I tried to respect his wishes. I still don’t know how he feels about me, though.”

Magnus takes a shuddering breath that Alec feels down to his bones. “I think he fell in love with you too.”

“Magnus, do you think you can ever trust me again?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus admits. “I want to. I don’t know what the future holds or where we go from here, but I do know that I want to try.”

He pulls Alec down those last few inches, his mouth warm and soft against Alec's. It's familiar, new, exciting, and soothes something raw and ragged deep in his chest.

_Some people are inevitable._

Magnus breaks the kiss. “Ah, Alexander, about that cash--"

“Yeah?” Alec’s drunk on lust, overfilled and bubbling over with happiness, an incredible lightness of being that he’s certain won’t last, but that’s okay. He’s content to sit back and enjoy the ride. Real love can’t be won or earned; it can only be granted, and right now, Alec thinks he got the best grant of all. 

“The money’s all yours,” Alec says, between open-mouthed kisses, “but you’ll have to earn it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading :)

EPILOGUE

He jams his fingers into the elevator button again and again, tapping his foot while listening to the elevator’s creaky descent. Finally, he can’t take it anymore and dashes for the side stairs, shoving through the door and taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time he’s knocking on Magnus’ door, he’s drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

The door opens and there’s Magnus, looking so radiant that it takes alec’s breath away. Also, extremely annoyed. “You’re_ late _.”

“Better late than never,” Alec says, leaning forward for a kiss, which Magnus reluctantly returns. If a kiss could be described as peevish, his definitely is.

Part apology gift, part explanation for his tardiness, he hands Magnus a bunch of flowers. Nestled inside is a banner that says, “Welcome, baby boy!”

Magnus shakes his head, but it’s a fond gesture, and Alec follows him inside, watching Magnus place the flowers in the middle of the table, surrounded by tiny lanterns that Alec ordered a few weeks ago. He bought those overpriced table lamps because they looked like jars of fireflies. It’s possible that he’s become slightly drunk on money and power. With his department’s new budgetary bump, he’s _rolling_ in motherfucking highlighters.

“Looks great,” Alec says, looking around. The place is spotless now that Magnus has finally unpacked the unsightly stack of boxes in the corner, including his various diplomas and Ph.D. proudly displayed on his bookshelf, which would have possibly cleared things up between them a lot sooner.

“But we can't eat the decorations,” Magnus points out. “I don’t know why you didn’t just let me get this part catered.”

“Because it’s a_ celebration_,” Alec answers. “Starting your own foundation is a big deal. Magnus, you’re going to help so many people.”

“And I'm not limited by prestige. Or making sure that the ‘right kind of people’ get the scholarships.”

“I still think you should have called it ‘Magnus Bane's big-ass scholarship foundation,’” Jace says, wandering out of the kitchen and popping cashews into his mouth.

“Oh yes,” Magnus says, sounding less than delighted, “Jace and Clary are already here.”

Jace finishes up his handful of food and wipes his palms on his jeans. “I know you’re loaded and all but how did you come up with the money for the first round of scholarships?”

Magnus and Alec both flush.

“Private benefactor,” Magnus says hurriedly.

“But I think your benefactor got his money’s worth,” Alec says smugly, shooting Magnus a significant look. “One could almost say you danced for it.”

Magnus narrows his eyes at Alec threateningly.

“Gross,” Jace says through a mouthful of dry roasted nuts, looking between them. “This feels lik3 a sex thing and of it is, I don’t want to know.”

“You can tell me,” Clary says, popping out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m always happy to hear about sex stuff.”

Alec drops a kiss on the top of her head. ‘What are you doing here so early?”

“Thought I could help with the cooking,” she says proudly. “I’m treating everyone to the finest in mashed potatoes that come from a box.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Magnus goes to answer as Alec heads into the kitchen, Clary trailing behind. 

He pulls out all the food he prepped the night before and turns on the oven. He hears the doorbell again and the low hum of voices. Clary’s stirring her mashed potatoes, frowning at the directions on the back of the box. “Hey, Alec,” she asks, “do you think they’re supposed to be this thick?”

Alc doesn’t even dignify that question with a response. instead, he rolls up his sleeves and puts a pot on to boil.

Once he’s got the chicken warming in the oven, the skin going brown and crispy, all the sides finished and Clary’s mashed potatoes as unlumpy as he can manage, he steps out into the living space where people are spread out, talking quietly.

From the couch, Luke laughs at something Maia said. He brought asparagus wrapped in bacon, which looks delicious. Jace keeps stealing bites when he thinks Alec isn’t looking. 

Ever since Alec presented his revised rubric, and students have been flocking to his classes, Luke has taken special notice of him. Little did he know that Luke had dated Clary’s mom for a time and they remained close even after the split. Alec still has to push down his reflexive need to please authority figures around him, but he figures if he can survive the holidays with the Dean of his university present and keep his pride mostly intact, Alec figures he can handle just about anything.

Izzy’s standing in front of the table, surveying its contents. 

“You know,” Izzy says thoughtfully when she notices Alec approaching, “those remind me of those lamps mom gave us when we were kids. Remember? We used to catch fireflies when we went on vacation upstate.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Brings back a lot of memories.” He thinks about the transient nature of happiness, the importance of living a connected life, of family.

There’s the type that finds you. Maia and Luke are talking quietly now, probably discussing the new fellowship that Luke recommended her for.

There’s the type of family that you’re born into. Jace is holding hands with Clary while Simon’s re-enacting some movie that seems to baffle everyone but him. Izzy’s grinning at him, having wandered back to the couch and Simon’s orbit. Alec doesn't get it, but she seems happy.

And last, but certainly not least, there are the ones that you never even saw coming, didn’t even know you needed. A pair of arms wrap around his waist, and Magnus hooks his chin over Alec’s shoulder, surveying his home. “How’s the food coming along?”

“Nearly done. Just have to wait for the vegetables to finish roasting.”

“You’re making good progress,” Magnus says softly.

“Took me long enough,” Alec replies, folding his hands over Magnus’. It feels _right_.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

“Sometimes,” Alec murmurs, “not always.” He was lucky, though he didn’t know it at the time. Not everyone gets a grand love, a big story. Sometimes the biggest love story in your life is the relationship you have with yourself. Learning to love yourself isn’t always a given or immediate. It might be a slow burn, an epic adventure, a dark tale; it might take your whole damn life, but it’s a journey worth taking all the same. 

And Alec thinks if it had gone that way for him, he would've been okay with that too. After all, he has a job he loves and his family, in every iteration of the word.

Izzy offers to help get the food ready, scooting past Alec and Magnus towards the kitchen, to which everyone utters a horrified, “_No_!”

“Fine,” Izzy huffs, even though it clearly isn't.

“Come on,” Simon says, gently and purposefully steering her away from the kitchen.

Alec shoots him a grateful look over Izzy's shoulder and Simon nods solemnly.

They take a seat on the couch again, where Clary is sketching a rough outline out of them. She told Alec last week that she’d make it a painting if her pottery set she was making for them didn’t work out in time for their wedding. Jokes on them, though, because Alec already has her lumpy first attempt wrapped and ready to gift them, including his beloved lopsided _ A _ mug. It only seems right that she should begin this new chapter of her life with some small part of him watching over her, even if it is misshapen and a little sad looking. Alec can see the beauty in imperfection now.

A timer beeps and Maia offers to check on the food. Luke is pouring glasses of wine and looking more self-assured and debonair than anyone has a right to. 

“Should I be jealous, love?” Magnus asks from behind him. “You're staring at Luke hard enough to bore holes in him.” There’s an amused glint in his eye with a backbone of steel. He’s amused, but also kind of not. He’s generally extremely secure in their relationship other than the odd moment that serves to remind Alec of how horribly Magnus has been treated in past relationships, and how much courage it takes to open yourself up again.

Jace and Clary are officially giving it another go. They’ll probably crash and burn but there's beauty in that, too, the ability to try for love after being burned. Alec can see that now. He doesn’t know if it’s stupid or lovely, but he does know that it’s the only way to truly live.

Jace is moving in with Clary next week, and Alec’s moving out. He and Maia have already picked a place out, the one that smells suspiciously of curry despite there being no curry restaurant for three blocks.

He knows Magnus felt like he should offer to let Alec move in with him, but Magnus isn’t quite there and Alec’s content to wait until he is. In the meantime, he took the weight off Magnus' shoulders by announcing that he was planning to move in with Maia. “you're going to kill each other within the first week,” Magnus said dubiously.

“Yeah, probably,” Alec agreed happily. But splitting the rent ensures they both have enough left over to eat food that doesn’t come shrink-wrapped in plastic and maybe even save some money to plan for the future. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but he’s thinking he might like to try teaching at a smaller university, maybe work on a Ph.D. of his own. There are a ton of possibilities, and they all excite him. 

“I think he’s dating my mom,” Alec says, frowning. “There’s definitely something suspect going on there. Look how close she’s sitting to him.” Maryse does look more relaxed than Alec can ever remember having seen her. Her hair is down, and she looks beautiful. Alec is immediately suspicious.

“Ah,” Magnus says. “I withdraw the question and offer congratulations to your mother.”

“I'm very old and mature enough to acknowledge my parents are sexual beings but not enough to talk about it casually.”

“When will that be?”

“Never,” Alec answers simply. “Immaculate conception for everyone!"

“Awfully prudish for a sex worker,” Magnus says, swatting at his butt.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Alec replies.

Finally, the last dish is taken out of the oven. The salad is clean and chopped, fresh and crisp. Everything’s laid out on the table, the lamps glowing warmly. They all sit down to eat, passing dishes around the table.

"I'm going to go put some mood music on,” Magnus murmurs in Alec's ear, leaning close. Alec nods distractedly, trying to get his hands on that damn asparagus before Jace eats it all.

“Can you pass the rolls?” Clary asks him, and Alec reaches across the table to hand her the basket of crusty, buttery golden bread. In the background, the low strains of some jazz number starts. It’s with no small amount of horror that Alec recognizes Duke Ellington.

“Magnus!” Alec yelps. 

Izzy and Jace cover their mouths, snorting loudly. Clary’s lips trembles with the effort not to smile. Maia shakes her head sadly.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Maryse asks, setting down her fork.

“It’s probably better you don’t know,” Alec says miserably. From the other side of the loft, he can hear Magnus laughing, and finally, Alec gives in and laughs too.

On the windowsill are the windowboxes that Alec and Magnus installed at the beginning of the season. And poking through the heavy snow, the delicate white snowdrop flowers are in full bloom.


End file.
